


1000 Raps

by Keenir



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-14
Updated: 2006-03-13
Packaged: 2018-08-16 05:58:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 22,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8090176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keenir/pseuds/Keenir
Summary: In the wake of 1.25 "Two Days And Two Nights," Malcolm and Hoshi must repair what had been damaged. (08/2003)





	1. 1000 Raps

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: The expression 'for when a person is unsuccessful at becoming intimate with another'. (thanks to the book _AFRICAN PROVERBS AND WISDOM: A Collection for Every Day of the Year, From More Than Forty African Nations_ by Julia Stewart.  


* * *

The _Seyhuukien_ were pretty humanoid, though 'pretty' wasn't a good descriptive. Their hair and hands were covered in trimmed-short quills, and their voices sounded like a woman speaking while a man gargled. Because of the quills, their clothing looked vaguely like a sarong...vaguely so.

Several of the local _Seyhuukien_ were slicing into coconut-sized melons, cracking the fruits with beaver teeth. The ones eating were holding a brisk conversation among themselves at the same time—unlike humans, they could talk and eat without the risk of choking.

Hoshi was learning the proper _Seyhuukien_ languages a mile further inland; languages unchanged by extraterrestrial loan words.  I should be there with her, Malcolm thought to himself. _But I don't think she'd want me around._

"Here," said Second, holding out a stick to Malcolm. On the pointy end of the stick, there was a writhing insect, the sort of fat grub that made up a goodly portion of the _Seyhuukien_ diet. "You be liking this," in broken English, picked up from watching Enterprise crewmen.

Second was the second-in-command of this local tribe; the woman who normally was in absolute command of this tribe, she was giving birth, so Second was in command right now. Half the tribe was with Second, the other half was out of sight, keeping guard over the laboring leader.

"Thank you," Malcolm said, accepting the impaled grub from Second. _Though I'm a bit out of practice with eating raw bugs._ "Um, do you mind if I warm this up a little? A little fire...?" not wanting to offend their culinary habits.

"Fire?" Second asked, intrigued by the new word. "Demonstrating?" telling Malcolm that fire wasn't used by _Seyhuukien_ , as their wrists and faces glowed in the dark. The fact that they were purely nocturnal made for an eerie scene, as Mayweather had stated earlier.

Malcolm nodded, and made a tiny fire with the dry leaf litter which lay nearby; he was careful to make sure it couldn't spread. And, hearing whispers among the group, he hoped that nobody was going to equate him with Prometheus.

When Malcolm sat back down, the little fire burning steady on its own, "Where are your husbands?" Second inquired as she removed part of her 'sarong'. Not much of it, but enough for little leech-like things to be visible on her soft leather skin.

With a perfectly straight face, Malcolm replied, "I am a husband."

_Seyhuukien_ eyes didn't widen the way human eyes did—the skin around a _Seyhuukien_ 's eyes puckered upwards, rolling away from the eye. Fortunately, it was something not done often, or for more than a few seconds.

A rustle of gargling voices and chattering quills filled the campfire scene, until, in awe, Second spoke. "Were you pulled off?"

Malcolm very nearly answered Yes, though just in time he realized that Second was speaking literally. _Well, I don't think Hoshi equates me with a leech just yet._ "No. No, I wasn't pulled off." _I don't think I'm going to be here long enough to explain 'estranged' to them._ "Humans aren't in constant physical contact with their spouses."

Second put her hand on Malcolm's shoulder. "Poor, sorry, unfortunate," she said. "Is your—spouse—in area?" removing her hand from his shoulder.

"Yes, she is," Malcolm said.

One of the other _Seyhuukien_ grumble-gargled something to Second, who translated to Malcolm: "If humans do not have contact, how be humans spoused?"

_Hooo boy,_ Malcolm thought to himself. "Many human cultures have a tradition called 'marriage'. In it, two or more people agree to live together, contacting only their spouses," using their meaning of 'contacting'. _And sometimes the concept works, sometimes it doesn't,_ Malcolm thought, remembering recent events. What had it been?_ Malcolm wondered. _Was it really a matter of shore leave? Is that why?

"Is proximity a substitute for contact?" Second asked. Malcolm was starting to wonder if Second had been learning English from T'Pol.

"It can be," Malcolm said, not sure where the conversation was going. He'd been learning about them, in the way they asked, in what they focused on; just as they'd been learning from him. The new, and to him unknown, turn in conversation...it made him nervous.

Second put her 'sarong' back on, gurgling something to the others, who nodded enthusiastically. To Malcolm, Second said, "Go to spouse. We are escorts to destination."

"Are you sure?" Malcolm asked. Second literally bristled, a reaction, Malcolm had learned earlier, to being doubted. "Okay, okay. But she's at least a mile away."

Second's bristles lay flat against her skin. "Not far," making Malcolm wonder if _Seyhuukien_ were migratory.

_Looks like my summers with the Afar and Huichols are going to come in handier than I'd thought,_ he said to himself as he started walking, with Second and the others leading the way, and a few trailing behind to watch for approaching dangers.

Thinking about the Afar only reminded Malcolm of how he'd met Hoshi, the linguist who had been struggling to learn the language under the scorching heat of the desert. Malcolm had been an intermediary, translating her requests, while in his spare time, he'd taught her the language. A friendship had been born that day.

A friendship that'd grown. And grown, blossoming into something wonderous to both of them.

Only the Enterprise had thrown a spanner into the works. So they'd agreed to feign ignorance of one another, pretending to meet for the first time.

Yet their every casual touch was still electric.

And yet, the feigning had risks of its own. _Hoshi knew that we couldn't spend every shore leave together...people'd start asking questions. What better cover than 'going bar-hopping with Trip,' to hide the truth?

_Bugger! She was right—I shouldn't have cared about questions. Mum would say that Hoshi's right to cold-shoulder me for a while, a while. It's been over two weeks since I've even gotten so much as a 'Good afternoon, Lieutenant' from Hoshi's wonderful lips.

_I've tried, and tried again._ Swearing the ship's Chef to secrecy hadn't been easy, nor had getting Chef to make Hoshi's favorite foods. But nothing'd worked. _If only she'd just tell me what she wants. I'd beg and plead if it would help any. She's turning into a cipher._

The mile passed with surprising quickness, free from any outside interuptions. And despite the temperate climate, Malcolm was in a cold sweat.


	2. Trip, Tree, Bark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is taken with great respect from the expression "Between a tree and bark it's dangerous to poke your finger." I'll try to explain the meaning in the story. the Journal is set right after '1000 Raps', while the rest of the story takes place after the events of 1.22 "Vox Sola."

  
Author's notes: The title is taken with great respect from the expression "Between a tree and bark it's dangerous to poke your finger." I'll try to explain the meaning in the story. the Journal is set right after '1000 Raps', while the rest of the story takes place after the events of 1.22 "Vox Sola."  


* * *

_JOURNAL OF MALCOLM REED_

No luck finding Hoshi on the _Seyhuukien_ world; it turned out she'd already returned to the Enterprise by the time I arrived at the area she'd been working. And she isn't talking to me now that I'm back on the Enterprise either.

I have to find some way to apologize, something to do to make up for everything. But what?

But what?

_JOURNAL ENTRY ENDS_

* * *

Captain Archer instructed me to escort the _Naroob_ ambassador around the Enterprise. He also told me that, should the ambassador start weaving webs or leaving bits of itself around the ship, to take the ambassador directly to the shuttle bay for it to leave. After the last web-like alien we encountered, I don't blame the captain.

A _Naroob_ looks like a cross between a salamander and a snail. I suppose we should be grateful that _Naroob_ don't have slime trails.

But they do have a way of walking that I've never seen before. Somewhere between constant stumbling, wheeling around in somersaults, and shuffling...there's the _Naroob_ method. Whumbles, yeah, that's a good word, Ensign Mayweather.

"And this is the Mess Hall," I say as I lead the ambassador into the room where we eat.

"Very clean," it remarks, and heads over to a plate half-full of food; probably left there by some folks abruptly called to fix something.

"Hey Malcolm," Commander Tucker says, following us in. "Gotta talk to you."

"I'm listening," I tell him, keeping an eye on the ambassador; I didn't know anyone could vacuum all that food up.

"What's going on?" Tucker asks me.

"I beg your pardon?" I ask. _Where's this going?_

"I couldn't help noticing how much you've been bothering Hoshi lately," he accuses me.

"I haven't bothered her," I respond. _Have I?_

"She's told you, in so many words, to leave her alone. She tried the silent treatment, she's tried avoiding you. What does she have to do—pour coffee down your shorts?"

I raise an eyebrow. "My shorts, Commander," I say dryly, "are most assuredly none of your concern."

"And Hoshi isn't any of yours."

"Were you absent the day your English class discussed paralels?" I ask, half-joking.

His hands form into fists. _Ooh, getting angry, Commander?_ "Here's something that's probably never occured to you," Tucker tells me. "Hoshi doesn't like you. She doesn't want you around!"

"This is none of your affair," I say to him, as levelly as I can.

"And I don't think she wants one with you either." Two seconds later, Commander Tucker is unconcious and lying on the floor. _Sorry, Commander, but that remark was most definately over the line._

The _Naroob_ ambassador whumbles over and peers at the Commander with all those eyestalks. Half a dozen of the stalks then look up at me. "Courtship?" it asks.

"No," I tell it. "Just a disagreement." One of those eyestalks is holding a pencil, and it writes something down. _Oh hell._

"Woof!" Porthos interupts us. First a few _Naroob_ eyestalks look Porthos' way, then all of them do. Porthos wags his tail, smiling that canine grin of his, and the ambassador wags its own tail back.

Fortunately, Porthos has very good reflexes, or he'd be impaled right now...and I'd have to explain to Captain Archer just how a _Naroob_ managed to smuggle a set of darts aboard the Enterprise. Porthos runs off, yipping for all he's worth.

"What did you just do?" I ask, as the ambassador starts to eat the darts from the Mess Hall floor. "And why?"

"I had wondered when I would be taken to your leader," the ambassador remarks. "That wondering has ended."

"But you'd already met Captain Archer," I say.

"A sexless creature," this _Naroob_ says dismissively. "Just like everyone else on this ship," _With respect, ambassador, my sex life is none of your concern!_ "...save for the dignitary I have just encountered."

"So you tried to kill him?"

I have no idea if the raspy sound from the ambassador is its idea of laughter, or what. "Not kill." _Dear Lord, if you're listening, please don't let this guy turn out to be part snail in his reproductive habits._

There's a grumble from Commander Tucker, who's waking up now. "Damn," he swears, then finds he's eye-to-eyes with a _Naroob_. "Afternoon," he says to the ambassador.

"On which planet?" the ambassador replies.

"Its just a figure of speech," Tucker replies. "Its how some of us say hello."

Just then, Captain Archer's voice over the intercomms asks us to get ready, since we're arriving at the _Naroob_ homeworld.

* * *

Both myself and the Commander were selected by the Captain for an away mission to this planet. Hoshi came too, but Mr. Tucker deliberately sat between us, striking up a conversation with her.

So now, here we are, on a mountainside, surrounded by hundreds of _Naroob_ , and feeling a buffetting wind coming on.

The ambassador, being nearest to us, makes it easy for us to see what's going on: the skin all over its tail is splintering, breaking apart...What is visible now, formerly under the tailskin, is a winged animal that spreads those wings and leaves the main body behind.

The same thing is happening all over the place on this planet. "A bunch of flying worms," Commander Tucker remarks.

_Well,_ I think, _it certainly does explain a few things._

Some of the _Naroob_ are shooting darts into nearby members of their own species, which helps both of them stay balanced in the winds. Ones not using darts, they keep taking tumbles while their tails are trying to fly away.

I leave the Commander and Captain, and go over to where Hoshi's watching it all. "Hoshi," I tell her. She looks at me, but it's unarguably a glare. "I'm sorry."

She keeps glaring at me..._This hell of mine, the hell of her never forgiving me is going to be eternal, isn't it?_

...And then one eyebrow lifts. "Really?" she asks me.


	3. Little By Little

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers, 2.01 "Shockwave 2."

  
Author's notes: Spoilers, 2.01 "Shockwave 2."  
  
Dedicated to Shishi, whose remark in FB inspired part of this. note: title is taken from a proverb from the Nyanja of Malawi, which says _"Little by little, the tortoise arrives at the Indian Ocean."_ Hoshi says this, untranslated, in the story. takes place following the season 2 premiere.  
  
The Malawi proverb was found in the book _AFRICAN PROVERBS AND WISDOM: A Collection for Every Day of the Year, From More Than Forty African Nations_ by Julia Stewart.  


* * *

"Translator Sato," one of the locals says to me. They don't have names, or they consider names unimportant...something like that. "Do we exist to speak with one another?"

Very philisophical bunch, these people are. "Yes we can," I assure—him, I think. He-it, I think Dr. Phlox pronounced some of them...the ones with the feathered heads.

"What are 'kowz'?"

"Cows?" I ask.

"Yes."

I have a bad feeling about this, and I don't need to look at SubCommander T'Pol to know that her eyebrow's likely raised. "If I may ask back before answering," I say, using their culture's rules for conversation, "who did you hear that word from?"

"Lunch," he-it answers, every head feather ruffed up.

"Your lunch?"

"The swamp plant from your supposedly space-flying vessel informed me that one's tucker is one's food."

Swamp pl—Malcolm. "And Commander Tucker said something about cows to you?"

"Compared me with a cow," he-it replies. And that's odd, because the locals look like plucked chickens.

There's a little sound behind me, and I don't look, because everyone 'knows' that Vulcans don't laugh.

Quick, Hoshi, think!! "A cow," I say, "is a creature from the planet that Commander Tucker comes from. A cow likes to sit and eat, while contemplating the universe."

"Truly?"

I nod. "Absolutely." God, I'm sorry about that white lie.

"Satisfactory," he-it replies, and waddles off—probably to debate the aesthetics of the word 'cow'.

"I wasn't aware, Ensign," T'Pol says to me, "that cows were such intellectual creatures. I have seen them on your world, and was not impressed by them."

There's nothing else I can do but shrug. "Your perception, SubCommander, not mine," and grin. Quick, Hoshi, walk away before she can figure out if you were snubbing her or not.

As I walk away, I can't help but notice Porthos chasing some of the locals, with other locals chasing Porthos, and an embarassed Captain Archer chasing his dog, but unable to even catch up with the locals. "Captain," I call over to him, "I don't think they want to hurt Porthos." He just nods, every breath appearantly being used for the run.

I just hope Porthos doesn't really think they're chickens.

I get a little ways into the woods, just to stretch my legs in a planetside walk, when I hear someone rushing to catch up with me. It was a rushed sort of waddle, so I mentally discount any humans. "Are we walking together?" the asker from earlier says to me.

I know better than to say 'We can.' I said that earlier, and didn't get to leave the conversation 'til over an hour later. "Yes we are," I say.

"That's good to hear," says another voice, right behind me. Malcolm.

"I didn't know you were there," I say, priding myself for not jumping out of my shoes...or shirt.

"Your perception of the world lacked in some parts," the asker says.

Malcolm walks around to the side opposite the asker. "I was just sitting around, and saw the two of you walking by..." He pauses. "So, can I walk with the both of you?" I nod. "Thanks," he says.

After a few silent minutes of walking—minutes where, for once, the asker didn't even query a falling leaf—I tell Malcolm about what the Commander did, and my part of the comparison. Malcolm gave a gasp so big I've no doubt it was theatrical in nature. "Commander Tucker gave such a divine comparison?"

"Divine?" asker asked.

Malcolm nodded. "In some parts of my world, cows and bulls are so revered for their wisdom that they're worshipped."

"The food refered to me as a divinity?"

Malcolm nods. "You're sure that he called you a cow, aren't you?" 'Sure'??

"Unless the air created that sound," asker said, "to produce the illusion of Commanding Food calling me a cow." The Gnostics had nothing on these people! Everything and anything is doubted.

Another bout of silent walking, with only one statement-question asked—repeatedly—and I have time to think...about myself and Malcolm. We made up, to a point, on the _Naroob_ world. And things had sort of remained thereabouts, until I literally dropped into his quarters, and half-naked at that. It was nice of him to divert his gaze elsewhere; chivalry, one of his many fine qualities; I guess he isn't bringing that point up, because he probably is afraid I'd see that as his taking advantage of my accident.

"I do not know about this ground," the asker says, eyeballing the underside of his-its foot, like somebody with gum on their shoe.

"With respect," Malcolm says, looking back at asker briefly, "you've been saying that for the last kilome—" and he falls straight down.

I stop walking, half afraid of falling as well, and half so I can see where he's fallen to...so I can help, if I can. "I was uncertain of the terrain," asker points out.

"I know," I say. "But you can still help out."

Asker looks at me with as skeptical of a look as a chicken can have. "Can a mote of dust kill a mountain?"

Oh great, just bloody great. Not only do they doubt reality...but now I find out they're fatalists too?

"Fine," I say. "Just stay there." He-it doesn't move a muscle.

Malcolm's in a pit, if a small and narrow one...but still deep enough that I can't reach him with my arm alone. There's no rope handy, so I need a branch. A branch...One I can reach, not thirty feet up and thorn-covered.

A branch! I grab the one branch, only for the branch to coil around my arm, lifting me up to a very alien eyeball. It drops me, so I guess I don't look like food.

Standing up, I don't wipe the dirt off my bum; for one thing, I might fall again...and for another, Malcolm comes first!

Blocking my way is the asker. "Did that hurt?" he-it asks. We're not supposed to throttle aliens we meet, I have to remind myself.

"I thought I told you to stay over there."

He-it tilts -its head. "Was it you who said that?" Just a hunch, but I don't think his-its kind would last long in Starfleet.

I walk around him-it, and only keep from plummetting into a knot of quicksand, by grabbing the nearest branch. Pulling myself out, I look around—no other choice, so I yank this real branch off its tree, and take it over to the pit...all the while, murmuring a little prayer of apology to anyone in the future who might need that branch to escape the quicksand.

I dangle the branch into the pit, and Malcolm grabs it. "You climb," I say, "and I'll pull."

"Sounds reasonable," he says dryly.

"No wonder they doubt everything," Malcolm grumbles as he makes his way up; speaking only after I told him about what happened. "Sinkholes and quicksand, predators that blend in with tree branches..." He shakes his head, and I agree. As he passes the lip of the pit, I give one last tug, and he stumbles out—knocking us both to the ground. Although we are in each other's arms.

"Malcolm," I say.

"Yes, Hoshi?" he asks, hanging on my every word.

_"Pang'ono—pang'ono kambe anafika ku Ciwambo._ I'm here at last."

He smiles and nods, leaving his head hanging down at the end of his last nod. "You remembered," he says in that rare tone of his, the one that feels like it's a lifeline to the past.

I smile back. "Silly," I tease him. "I remember everything you said on our honeymoon." Pausing to linger here, together. "In fact..."


	4. Hoshi's Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Includes Reed/Sato, Reed/Cutler, Tucker/Cutler.

  
Author's notes: Includes Reed/Sato, Reed/Cutler, Tucker/Cutler.  
  
there are 3 Truths; each one can be taken separately, yet they hinge together, like a series-within-a-series, if that makes any sense). the title is taken with great respect from _"The truth must be told, however harsh it may be; it may redden your eyes, but it won't blind you."_ by the Ivorian writer Ahmadou Kourouma's 1968 book 'The Suns of Independence'. (yes, I found this in the same book as the other quotes). This takes place only a few days after the events of "Little By Little."  


* * *

_SICKBAY:_

"You're pregnant," Dr. Phlox informs me. "I believe the word is 'congratulations'."

Pregnant? But the last time I had—

"You're sure?"

He nods like most humans do, probably a deliberate gesture. "Quite sure. Either you are pregnant, or you have a most unusually-shaped tumor."

Shape? It was only a few days ago! How could it have a shape already? If anything, it should be just a little sphere of cells...right? I couldn't help but blink confusion. "Shape?" I ask dumbly.

Another human-type nod. What does a Denobulan-type nod look like? "Oh yes. If you'd like, I can run an exam to determine the genetic donor." 'Genetic donor,' not 'father'? A reminder that humans aren't terribly odd to him...or maybe we are—to him.

"Thanks," I tell him; "but no. I've got a good idea of who the father is."

He just—no, it's not a shrug...not sure what he just did with his neck. "If you change your mind..." he offers while I get off the examination bed.

I nod back. "Out of curiosity, how far along did it look like my pregnancy was?"

Not even a scrunch of his face as he thinks. Can his face scrunch?

"Based on what I know of the human gestation cycle," Dr. Phlox tells me, "almost three months."

Three months.

**THREE MONTHS?!!?**

I know my legs wobbled a bit, and my hands reached back for the bed. I think I'd better hop back up on it. "Maybe you should run that check," I say, my voice quiet and distant-sounding, "just in case." He nods, but doesn't say anything.

* * *

Nearly An Hour Later, MESS HALL:

I sit alone.

I'm glad for little favors, like Dr. Phlox having asked Malcolm for his professional opinion—regarding the best neckties for an upcoming date with Elisabeth Cutler.

"Stud?" asks an alien mollusc at a neighboring table.

If it weren't for the fact that they can walk around on dry land, the _Hssk'khr_ look like the extinct Ammonites of Earth—correction, like a reconstruction of those ancient shelled cousins of the squid. Right now, several _Hssk'khr_ are crowding around a table where Commander Tucker is explaining the rules of some obscure card game.

I look back to my drink. It was nice of Chef to make me a milkshake.

Maybe I can just lose myself—figuratively—in the foam that sits atop the shake. Just stare hard enough, Hoshi, and the outside world is reduced to nothingness...or so the perception will be. Just me and the shake. Not a bad idea...All I have do do is let my eyes unfocus...

But in that pairing, there's still me. Me...and the fetus.

There are only three worlds I ever slept with anyone on: Earth, Risa, and Asker's World which we left a few days ago. Risa was a little over a year, assuming my calendar's still accurate, given everything that's been happening since leaving Earth. And Earth...the last time I slept with Malcolm—before Asker's World—there was three months before Captain Archer'd asked me to join his crew.

"Your pardonings for disturbing your meditation," I'm told. I let my eyes regain their focus, and look up from my drink—at a parrot beak with tentacle sideburns. A _Hssk'khr_.

"It's okay," I say. "I was finishing up anyway."

"There exists a question in my mind," it says—if they have genders, I can't distinguish them. "Might you answer it, since another species has failed to answer it."

"Go ahead," I say.

"Are there other forms of entertainments viable to the human species, aside from cards?"

"Lots," I say.

"Of thats, I am aware. When I inquired as to the nature of some of these 'lots', the one I was asking—changed colours. Became very red in the dorsal appendage." Unlike the squids and octopi of Earth, the _Hssk'khr_ don't seem able to change colours.

"Did you ask SubCommander T'Pol, or Dr. Phlox?" While I don't think the SubCommander would blush or let her ears turn red, I don't know what colour the Dr.s face would turn.

"Neither of those were consulted. Only Commander Tucking had been asked." Then why did you just...

"Actually, pardons for saying, but Commander Tucker and myself are members of the same species." I suppose it's a welcome change from humanoids on planets who assume that the Captain and SubCommander, for example, are from the same planet.

The beak hangs open, the smaller tentacles go limp, and its eyes unfocus. Then it collapses, the sound of its coiled shell clattering against the floor. Dear Lord, I think I scared it.

I just hope it wasn't scared to death.

The other _Hssk'khr_ walk over from the card table to confront me. At least they don't try to invade my personal space. "What has occured?" asks one. I tell them what I and their comrade had been discussing—and they start to go limp as well.

But the others recover from the shock. "But pardons for saying, you look different," says another _Hssk'khr_. Yep, theory proven.

"Physical variation," I say.

They make sounds roughly equal to "aahhhh, I get it" in their language. "Are all the—bipeds residing within this cosmic submarine the same species?" asks a third one.

"What of the quadraped?" asks a fourth. Oh I can see it now, they walk up to the Captain, and ask how his brother Porthos is doing.

This could take a while.

* * *

Several Hours Later, SATO QUARTERS:

Blackness. The inky depths. Then I feel the comforting massage of my shoulders by—by Malcolm. Nobody massages like my husband.

I manage to open one eye at a time. "And what do I owe the pleasure of this?" I ask, trying not to purr like a demented housecat.

"Just wanted to see if I was out of practice," he tells me, his voice in lowered tones. Too late, Malcolm sweet, your massages always wake me up...but in a good way.

"No, definately not out of—well, your style's the same," I correct myself. Most of me hopes that he hasn't had anyone to practice on during our stay on Enterprise thus far...and part of me wouldn't blame him if he'd succumbed to temptation somewhere along the way.

"That's good to know," he says, continuing to rub joints I didn't realize were in need of a little rubbing.

I let him continue for a few minutes more, each of us enjoying the silent contact with one another. It's really been so long..."Malcolm?" I say, hesitantly. He has to know, but I don't relish how he might react.

"Hoshi?" he answers, his tone querying.

"I'm pregnant," I say. Malcolm's hands don't squeeze me in surprise, or let go either—they just remain in one place, an abrupt pause of the massage. And, against my fears, I tell Malcolm about what happened on Risa...and what Dr. Phlox told me.

There's nothing from Malcolm. No change in touch, or any words from his mouth.

"Malcolm?" I ask, afraid.

"I won't leave you," he tells me, his tone lacking any hesitation or self-doubt. "If you'd still have me, I'd like to help you raise this child."

I sniffle, feeling like I'm about to cry. Relief, that's what I feel right now.


	5. Malcolm's Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there are 3 Truths; each one can be taken separately, yet they hinge together, like a series-within-a-series, if that makes any sense). the title is taken with great respect from _"The truth must be told, however harsh it may be; it may redden your eyes, but it won't blind you."_ by the Ivorian writer Ahmadou Kourouma's 1968 book 'The Suns of Independence'. (yes, I found this in the same book as the other quotes). Dedicated to Shi-Shi2525 & Dragoncait, I must admit my kick-in-de-arse comes from the great John W. Cambell's proverb "Show me a being that thinks as well as a man, but not *like* a man."

  
Author's notes: there are 3 Truths; each one can be taken separately, yet they hinge together, like a series-within-a-series, if that makes any sense). the title is taken with great respect from _"The truth must be told, however harsh it may be; it may redden your eyes, but it won't blind you."_ by the Ivorian writer Ahmadou Kourouma's 1968 book 'The Suns of Independence'. (yes, I found this in the same book as the other quotes). Dedicated to Shi-Shi2525 & Dragoncait, I must admit my kick-in-de-arse comes from the great John W. Cambell's proverb "Show me a being that thinks as well as a man, but not *like* a man."  
  
ps: I sincerely apologize if I've misspelled any of the non-English words in this. note: This takes place only a day after the events of "Hoshi's Truth". I also give a few of my private Enterprise theories.like Hoshi's name. :) some of the more obscure languages: Nauhtlâ€”language of the Mayans; Eusperka(sp)â€”language of the Basques;  


* * *

I wake up, and treasure the feel of Hoshi in my arms. Its been so long since we cuddled, just cuddling, sleeping platonically just for the feel of one another. Oh how I missed this.

Seeing what time it is, I ease her alarmclock to a face-down position, so she won't bolt out of bed to get dressed for duty. I look at my sleeve—I am still dressed...as is Hoshi. So why do I have this sudden, irrational fear that somebody's going to come barging in here, and find us like this?

Aach, let them find out...just not in such a way that Hoshi is embarassed. I couldn't bear that happening...maybe that's why we agreed on the route we took, with Starfleet.

Hoshi makes one of her Early Morning Sounds as her throat tries to wake up before the rest of her—that's what it sounds like, and I wouldn't have things any other way. Everything about her is beautiful, even the little sounds.

Hoshi finishes waking up, then turns to me. "What time is it?" she asks in drowsy Nauhtl, having noticed the down-turned clock.

"It's early yet," I lie, a white lie. English is good for saying them.

"Really?" she asks in Hindi, sounding like she doesn't believe me entirely, but will humour me. "And what did you have in mind?"

Much as I'd like to give you another massage, dear, there are things to do. "Let's get you down to Sickbay," I suggest in Eusperka(sp). Health before duty, as my dad always told me.

Just when we finally get out her front door, we encounter Mr. Tucker, who was about to ring the bell. "Hey Hoshi," he says full of American enthusiasm, then, more somberly, "Malcolm."

"Hello," Hoshi replies. I say the same word, only in Kurdish.

"Is he bothering you, Hoshi?" Commander Tucker asks.

"Nyet," Hoshi assures him, in Russian.

"Huh? Mind saying that again?"

"She said nein," I tell him, switching to German on the final word.

"C'mon, speak English, not Vulcan." That was a figure of speech, right?

Me and Hoshi each raise an eyebrow, and she asks something that probably is Vulcan.

"All right," Mr. Tucker says. "But just remember, Hoshi, that I tried to help." She nods, and Mr. Tucker finally leaves us alone.

So the two of us make our way to Sickbay. The corridor to Dr. Phlox's lab is empty, but I would still be by Hoshi's side, even if the hall were filled with everyone in Starfleet.

"If it's a boy..." Hoshi says to me, speaking in Thai.

"It could be a girl," I suggest in the same language. Undoubtedly would be a beauty, like her mother; a face more worthy of worship than Helen of Troy or Aphrodite.

"Well, assuming it's a boy," she says, "we could name him..." and she trails off. "It was, after all, my mother's favorite name." And the source of Hoshi's own, since she hadn't been born a boy; so Hoshi was given a variant spelling of it. I know what name she means.

"No," I say gently. "Let's save that for the second son."

Hoshi raises one of those graceful eyebrows. "You presume we're having at least two children."

"No, but if it happens that we have more than one, I'm okay with that; and I'm okay if this is our only one."

"Okay," she says, "but I was thinking more of Malcolm the second," to which I shake my head. I would never inflict my middle names on a child!

The corridor isn't shaking, but my feet do feel something...something's coming. Why do I suddenly feel like Indiana Jones?

It's a large sphere rolling down the corridor, that's why. I pull Hoshi to the side, with my back hitting the corridor wall, and then we turn so that I'd be the one struck by the sphere.

But the sphere stops, and starts to uncurl. Turning to look, warily, I know that I've seen that face before..."A _Hssk'khr_ ," Hoshi says, recognizing it before I did. She also drops back to English.

"Yes," it says. "You moved," it said, sounding remarkably like a whine.

"What the bloody—were you doing that for?" I ask, refraining from the full curse, only because Hoshi was with me.

"Commanded Tucking explained of bowlings," it replies, uncurling itself. Note to self: invite the Commander to army ant territory for lunch.

"But why were you doing that?" Hoshi asks.

"Performance of amusement."

"Why are you so curious about forms of amusement?" Hoshi asks it.

"We-all _Hssk'khr_ must perform every form we can, knowing everything of entertainment. Only then may we sight the Humorous." Well then, I'm sure the Commander would be happy to help you play rugby, or Pin The Tail...

"The humorous?" Hoshi and I ask as one.

The entire _Hssk'khr_ body bobs like part of a fishing line...which makes sense, since they don't have a neck. "The Humorous is Creator of All...even the Vulcans...and the Humorous is the Enlightener of Few."

"If I can ask," Hoshi asks, "what exactly do you believe will happen when you know all the entertainments?"

"Two wishes granted," answers the _Hssk'khr_. "Anythings requested, made manifest!" I'm no xenolinguist, but I bet that that's excitement.

Even so..."Just two?" I ask. Why is it that I say things to aliens that I wouldn't say to most anyone on Enterprise? Is it because they don't know me, thus affording a slight anonimity(sp) ?

"What is faulty with two?" it asks, sounding baffled.

"Nothing," I assure it. "I just thought that, for all that hard work, your people would get more than just two wishes," unless one of them is for a lot more wishes.

The eyes widen, but none of the shocked features Hoshi told me about. Then the alien wanders off, muttering to itself in Latin about the typically humanoid oddity of 'greed'.

Shaking our heads at that, Hoshi and myself continue on our way to the Sickbay.

* * *

_SICKBAY:_

"I've done a genetic analysis, Ensign," Dr. Phlox says to Hoshi. "And while the majority of the fetus is from your own genetic code, and the fetus is beginning to aquire some of Lieutenant Reed's genes."

"And the rapid growth?" Hoshi asks, concerned.

"Well, you have Lieutenant Reed to thank for that," he says.

"Excuse me?" I ask. He's hardly noticed me during this visit; which is understandable, since Hoshi's the center, the focal point. And the center of my personal universe.

"Contact with your DNA activated the dormant blastocyst," Dr. Phlox says. "Though contrary to what some Earth movies may claim, it wasn't keyed to your genes. You just happened to be the next gene donor."

"You're sure about this?" I ask. I probably wouldn't understand it if he showed me the technical details, but I have to ask.

He nods. "I do know my own species."

"But...But he didn't say he was from Denobula," Hoshi says. "He was from —"

"From -?" Dr. Phlox pronounces it, all however-many sylables it has. Hoshi nods. "That is the name of my world, just not the name used by the cultural majority of Denobulans."

Oh no, Hoshi...Calm down, just calm down. You know, Doctor, it's your fault she's stammering; you just had to deliver a shock to her system. She hasn't stammered for a long time. I think the last time was when I proposed, atop the Pyramid of the Magician, on that special day of the year.

Just when my wife looks like she's about to pass out, the intercomm beeps, then spews out the Captain's voice: "Lieutenant Reed, please report to the Bridge."

I look at Hoshi, and she nods. With great reluctance, I part from her, going over to the comm unit on the wall, and answer: "Is it an emergency?" I ask. Yes, it's my shift; but I'm not leaving Hoshi at a time like this, not come Hell, high water, or Suliban flu.

"Well, no...not yet," he answers, sounding baffled by my response.

"Then I'll have to say, hold on, Captain. I'm busy," and I click the comm off. Okay, now to walk back over to my dear Hoshi. "Did I miss anything?" I ask her and the doctor.

"No," she says. "But you didn't have to do that."

I nod. "You're right. I chose to." She gives me a smile that means 'I hope you know what you're doing', and addresses Dr. Phlox:

Hoshi—changing the subject to help her steady herself—tells Dr. Phlox about what happened to the _Hssk'khr_ yesterday—specifically the dizzy spells and fainting. Dr. Phlox just nods, as though he expected as much. "The _Hssk'khr_ are a fairly rare case study, an oddity in the ranks of sentient life," he says. "My uncle's second wife's third husband did quite a bit of research on them. They're like cheetahs on your planet."

"Cheetahs?" I ask.

He nods. "Genetically speaking, they're virtually identical."

"So," Hoshi picks up the concept, "they were shocked by the thought that two dissimilar-looking people could be the same species, right?"

"Quite." Well, to be fair, Mr. Tucker's not anywhere near as lovely as my Hoshi.

Tucker. T'Pol. Archer. The _Hssk'khr_ probably think they're all different species.

A lightbulb goes off over my head, and I'm only sorry its taken this long to brighten. Yes, I should have done this months ago.

I look to Hoshi, who gives me a nervous frown, but nods anyway. I nod in reply, and head back to the comms. "Sickbay to Captain Archer," I say. When he replies, I tell him, "Could you come down here? There's something you should know," and click it off again.

Yes, I'm going to tell him the truth. Even if it kills me...though I don't relish the thought of what that would do to Hoshi.


	6. Humorous Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there are 3 Truths; each one can be taken separately, yet they hinge together, like a series-within-a-series, if that makes any sense). the title is taken with great respect from _"The truth must be told, however harsh it may be; it may redden your eyes, but it won't blind you."_ by the Ivorian writer Ahmadou Kourouma's 1968 book 'The Suns of Independence'. (yes, I found this in the same book as the other quotes). This takes place immediately after "Malcolm's Truth". I feel sorry for anyone in the path of the *Hssk'khr*--can you imagine how pissed-off they are?

  
Author's notes: there are 3 Truths; each one can be taken separately, yet they hinge together, like a series-within-a-series, if that makes any sense). the title is taken with great respect from _"The truth must be told, however harsh it may be; it may redden your eyes, but it won't blind you."_ by the Ivorian writer Ahmadou Kourouma's 1968 book 'The Suns of Independence'. (yes, I found this in the same book as the other quotes). This takes place immediately after "Malcolm's Truth". I feel sorry for anyone in the path of the *Hssk'khr*--can you imagine how pissed-off they are?  


* * *

"I'm not insulting your egg line," Captain Archer reiterated for the tenth time. "I just want to know what you've done to my Chief Armory officer."

"That is insult," said the _Hssk'khr_ who'd spent the most time on and near the Enterprise Bridge. This one had been asked by Captain Archer to accompany him down to Sickbay. "You making suggestions of innuendo and—" an untranslatable sound, "between I and human...insult!!"

The door to Sickbay opened just then.

"You wanted to see me?" Captain Archer asked, stepping inside to get away from the cephalopod-like alien.

"Yes sir," Lieutenant Reed replied. "I'm sorry for my behavior lately—"

"That is good to hear," T'Pol said, having accompanied the Captain and _Hssk'khr_ down here.

"lately," Reed repeated, "but my wife is pregnant, so I was helping her."

"Your wife?" Archer asked, trying to think of when the Lieutenant could have gotten married—which planet?

Hoshi raised her hand. "That would be me."

"You?" T'Pol asked. Like laughter, Hoshi had to remind herself, Vulcans weren't supposed to be able to be incredulous...no matter how it sounded.

In Vulcan, Hoshi quipped, "At least my bum isn't the sole noticable feature of my body."

T'Pol said nothing to that; she was struggling to stay perfectly still. The _Hssk'khr_ noticed the cracks of a smile on the Lieutenant's face.

"Did you know about this?" Captain Archer asked Dr. Phlox. Had Phlox been human, he probably would have been walking away slowly, whistling innocently. "Doctor?"

"I knew of the Ensign's pregnancy," Phlox confirmed. "But I—" and he kept from lying. He was a sociologist, an anthropologist; so he forebore from saying that he wasn't. "But I only knew of their marriage after they informed me of it."

"How long—? How long have the two of you been married?" Archer asked.

"Remember Starfleet?" Hoshi asked. Archer nodded. "Before then."

Nothing in the universe is truly instantaneous. Time itself is dividable into an infinity of spaces. So the delay was understandable:

The room began to brighten, and something half emerged from the ceiling and half appeared out of thin air. Exact edges didn't exist for it: it faded into brightness along the sides, and lit up more and more towards the center.

The _Hssk'khr_ splayed its legs out, angling all those tentacles out like a lizard or crab's walking legs. Hoshi figured that was their way of prostrating themselves—which would mean that—"This is the Humorous?" she asked.

"Indeed corrects," the _Hssk'khr_ murmured, reverence in its posture.

Shielding his eyes from the intensity of the luminous glare, Jonathan Archer said to his two Starfleet officers, "I wish the two of you hadn't lied about your relationship."

The alien—if the Humorous was one—made a few _CLICK_ ing sounds. "Acceptible."

There was, appropriately enough, a bolt of lightening and the roll of thunder to mark such an eventful event.

* * *

BRASIL, Two Minutes Later:

Hoshi blinked, and found herself standing in front of a roomful of eager young students who wanted to become linguists. She could see Malcolm sitting in the front row, giving her a look that was all reassurance.

After the class was over, Malcolm stayed behind to help her put the class notes and papers in order. "Drachma for your thoughts?" he asked, since she seemed to be lost in thought.

"I'd have to give you change, then," Hoshi teased.

"No, I'd be in debt," Malcolm insisted in a teasing manner.

Hoshi smiled, and pointed out to the first stars of the evening. "I can't help but wonder what Archer's up to," Hoshi said, "out there." She, after all, had never joined the Enterprise crew; and neither had her husband. They'd opted out of such an adventure, prefering to stay Earthbound for at least a few more years.

"I'm sure he's having grand adventure," Malcolm said, nuzzling her neck, "but he's missing out on the finer things in life...like married life."

Hoshi leaned back in his embrace, one hand gingerly touching the slight swell of her abdomen, where grew her completely human baby. "Even so, I just wish we knew for certain."


	7. In The Wind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place a few days after the "TRUTH" stories. the title is taken with great respect from the Malagasy proverb about resiliance: "People are like plants in the wind: they bow down and rise up again."

  
Author's notes: This takes place a few days after the "TRUTH" stories. the title is taken with great respect from the Malagasy proverb about resiliance: "People are like plants in the wind: they bow down and rise up again."  


* * *

I walk down a corridor that is at once familiar...and yet, completely new to me.

It's strange, really. I mean, I have one set of memories that just drape over my main set of memories...I suppose its one of the safeguards the universe has to keep people sane, particularly if they've bounced from one line of existance to another—like myself and Malcolm have. One set of my memories includes a trip to Risa, while the other set lacks that memory—or of anything else on the Enterprise.

I nod to the guard on duty, "Hey Hal," I say, "I'd like to chat with some of the _Hssk'khr_ ," and he lets me inside. He's a friend of Malcolm's, though I doubt even Hal knew about my marriage to Malcolm. But Hal trust Malcolm...and me.

Inside this room are all the _Hssk'khr_. I suppose the Captain couldn't bring himself to have them all killed—even after their attempted riot...including against the T'Pol and the Captain himself in Sickbay, just after me and Malcolm'd left.

"You returned," one of the _Hssk'khr_ says glumly.

"No wishes remain," predicts another, the smallest, whose skin is bruised the most—from the Captain, I think.

"Our people have been informed," a third tells me. "They await us." Wasn't this one with the Commander?...what did he do that there's a brilliant orange welt on its skin?

The largest one just rolls around in a circle, lolling despondantly.

"Cheer up," I say. "It's not the end of the world."

"Correct," says the smallest. "Our world has been empty of us for five million years. It will survive our passing."

"Your passing?" I ask. Okay, so there are times I can repeat things like an idiot.

I have a feeling they aren't talking about going to DisneyWorld...even the one in Calcutta.

"We have worked for," the _Hssk'khr_ paused, calculating, "eight million years. There is nothing else we can do now."

"Save for exiting the plural planes of existance," said a second one.

"Do you have any suggestions?" moans the largest.

The day I suggest _sepuku_ is the day that T'Pol dances in public, wearing a tutu.

What would Malcolm say? Think, Hoshi, think!! "I bet you there is something you can do," I say, grasping at straws. Conceptual straws, though that might not be the best term, given my state. I think Dr. Phlox is baffled over how I 'lost' the Denobulan DNA.

"Bet?" inquires the smallest _Hssk'khr_ present. "More amusement for your ends?"

"No," I say. "A bet can also be a wager between two people or groups."

"What wages?" asks the largest, no longer rolling about.

"If I win, all of you stick with what you find."

"Or should you fail winning?"

I meet their eyes, their not-human eyes, and don't say anything.

* * *

**A WEEK LATER:**

According to the SubCommander, this world we've just arrived at, it's fairly old and dry. Mostly solid rock on the surface, with the occasional patch of soil. Not a lot of free oxygen in the air, and it's hot too. Not as hot as the salt mines I visited...where I met Malcolm.

A dry wind carried some dust along as we stepped out from the shuttle. We hadn't gone twenty feet from that shuttle when the SubCommander told the Commander, "Do not put your foot down."

So, Commander Tucker just froze there, balancing one-legged while the rest of us tried to see what T'Pol's scanners had picked up. It was something part shark, part housecat...and it was purring. There was also a row of spines running down its back.

"Likely poisonous," T'Pol remarked.

"Like a fish," Trip muttered. "One of them stonefish on Earth."

There was a sound exactly like a " _mew_ ". And it was coming from the stone-mimic.

"Did you just hear a cat?" Trip laughed.

The native made a 'mew'ing sound again, then pointed to itself. " _Hoooissh_ ," it said.

"Who ish?" Trip asked, trying to repeat the sounds. He set his foot down, away from the stone-mimic catshark.

" _Hoooissh_ ," it repeated, not pausing between the sylables. Is that their name, or a general statement?

It rears up on—I can't tell offhand if those are all legs, all pseudopods, or some legs and the rest are something else. The _Hoooissh_ 's body was covering something up: a bowl-shaped depression in the rock, and that depression has something in it.

The _Hoooissh_ uses one leg to pick something out of the bowl—one arm, not leg, I suppose, since it's now holding something. A net? Or just a collection of knots on a set of ropes.

"Very primitive," SubCommander T'Pol comments.

"We've all got to start somewhere," I snap back at her, though I keep it in English.

"Give them a few thousand years," Archer says, agreeing with me, "and they'll be flying starships too."

"More than a few thousand," T'Pol says, "if human history is a basis."

"Then let's give them a few good teachers," I say, an idea forming in my head.

"Ensign?" T'Pol asks me. Curiosity?...or just me imagining it?

"Maybe we can give them someone to learn from. An entire race to learn from."

"Vulcans?" the Commander asks, at the same time as the SubCommander asking:

"Humans?"

I shake my head to both. "The _Hssk'khr_."

"Hoshi—" Archer says, a warning in his tone.

"If we don't, then the _Hssk'khr_ race, every one of them, down to the last individual, will kill themselves."

"That would not be a logical action," the SubCommander says.

Now I raise an eyebrow. "They were working for eight million years, only for us to steal their reward. Don't they deserve _something_ for all their effort?"

Jonathan Archer looks at me, and goes walking off.

* * *

I'm not sure how much time's passed...since I haven't checked my watch. If I look at it once, I'll probably end up looking at it every thirty seconds. Captain Archer's still out there: pacing back and forth, sitting down, standing up, kicking loose dust.

I start to walk towards him, to try to help out, but—

"Attempting to push him to a decision,"T'Pol says, "may very well result in him choosing an outcome contrary to what you were requesting." Dang she's right. Right enough that I just sit down and watch Commander Tucker playing peek-a-boo with a very baffled _Hoooissh_.

I wait, and we wait, and we all wait some more. _Next time,_ I tell myself, _I'm bringing a parasol!_ The heat is enough for us, and we're standing in the shadow of the shuttle...How much worse I imagine it is for the Captain. After all, I doubt he's had more than the Starfleet modicum of desert survival classes—nothing next to the consecutive months which myself and Malcolm have lived in deserts.

And finally, after a great long while, Captain Archer returns. Heavily sunburned, he looks at us, his gaze settling on me, and its neither a kind look, nor an evil look. Just the look of a man who wishes there was another option.

Captain Archer activates his comm. "Lieutentant Reed," he says into it. "Would you and some other armory officers please bring the _Hssk'khr_ down to our coordinates? And Lieutenant, keep your weapons on—" and he hesitates..."stun."

I put my hand on his shoulder. "Thank you," I tell him.

He doesn't look at me. I half expect him to say 'Don't thank me.' Instead, he looks at the _Hoooissh_ , and tells it "I'm sorry."

* * *

The _Hssk'khr_ came down to the planet without any incidents, and they listened to my proposal on how they could continue their existance.

"Teaching," said the largest of the _Hssk'khr_ Enterprise had had.

I nod. "Yes. Many cultures I've met, they consider it the highest honor one can attain."

They confer among themselves for several long minutes. Minutes made more bearable by Malcolm now standing alongside me; we aren't touching, but the presence is enough.

"We will do this honor," all four _Hssk'khr_ say as one, their voices not echoing one another—it's more like its a single voice. "As a race, this shall be done," and they turn around, leading the _Hoooissh_ away from us.

The _Hoooissh_ looks back at us, a confused look on its face, but it stays with the four.

"Captain," I say as the five cross the horizon.

"Yes?" he asks me.

"I have a feeling they might prefer Starfleet not to hang around."

"Or at least," Malcolm adds, "not too closely."

Captain Archer nods, rubbing where a _Hssk'khr_ had nearly bitten a chunk out of his arm. "I'll make the suggestion to Admiral Forrest." He pauses. "Though there may be a few things I don't mention...to simplify the report."


	8. Trip And The Onion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place a few days after "In The Wind". The Enterprise seems to have entered a run-down & very bad neighborhood. (and its a little demonstration of what role biology can play in a story). dedicated to: Layla & Shi_shi2525, for the inspiration of this. the title is taken with great respect from the Egyptian expression of "If an onion causes his loud rejoices, then what shall we say to sugar?" comment from my Hoshi muse: "In case you the reader was wondering what Guzzlers look like (and who let Trip name them??), imagine if rhinos had evolved from birds." (author's note: well, the expression was about 'those who gush with admiration over trivial things'.but I thought it somehow fit the story. what do you think?).

  
Author's notes: This takes place a few days after "In The Wind". The Enterprise seems to have entered a run-down & very bad neighborhood. (and its a little demonstration of what role biology can play in a story). dedicated to: Layla & Shi_shi2525, for the inspiration of this. the title is taken with great respect from the Egyptian expression of "If an onion causes his loud rejoices, then what shall we say to sugar?" comment from my Hoshi muse: "In case you the reader was wondering what Guzzlers look like (and who let Trip name them??), imagine if rhinos had evolved from birds." (author's note: well, the expression was about 'those who gush with admiration over trivial things'.but I thought it somehow fit the story. what do you think?).  


* * *

"MORE!!" shouts a Guzzler at all of us senior staff of Enterprise.

"More?" I can't help but ask. "You guys just had the Bourbon, the Whiskey, and the Scotch."

"It was not strong enough," the second Guzzler says, stone sober...or just boulder-sized. And they are, both of them.

I don't believe this. These two break onto Enterprise, cause general mayhem, and now they're complaining about the drinks?

"Too watery," the first remarks.

I grumble, and put a few flasks on the table. Ouzo!, Yasou!, retsina, and O'pah!...lets see those bastards call that watery! Not even bothering to pour a glass, they swallow all those down...without a single strain. No effect.

No effect?

"If your ship cannot produce satisfactory beverages to incapacitate us," one of the Guzzlers says, "we will take what we want from your ship." They _want_ to be incapacitated?? "None of your soldiers or weapons can stop us!"

Malcolm shoves Hoshi behind him. Trying to hide force behind a veil of nobility, Lieutenant? Kinda shows what a load of bullcrap are all those rumors circulating about you two being married.

I'd know if Hoshi were married!

* * *

_THAT NIGHT:_

Quiet as can be, I enter the mess hall at about shipboard midnight.

Those hulks aren't moving. Probably asleep, or konked out at last.

So I sit down with my midnight snack, though I take a table close to the door, just in case. Ahh, pecan pie, a few chocolate chip cookies, and a glass of milk. Just like momma used to make.

The floorboards shake. Note to self: re-engineer the floor so that they won't result in bad Jurassic Park impressions with drinks. Before I can even start to stand up, two shadows fall over me: and nobody else on Enterprise is that big—even those squid-people were runts compared to the Guzzlers. Damn they're fast!

"What is this?" one Guzzler demands, pointing to the milk.

"It's milk," I say, just as the other one grabs the milk, and gulps it down. HEY! You have any idea how hard I had to work, just so Chef would agree to make a glass of milk every night??

"Tastes funny," that Guzzler says.

Wow, that's already more of a reaction than the ouzo! got.

"Where are your _real_ drinks?" asks the one who didn't have any milk. Hm, ever had plasma coolant, bucko?

The one who'd had the milk, I'm just glad that he fell backwards...'cause if he'd fallen on me, I'd be flatter than a squirrel on the Interstate Highway. The other Guzzler looks at his—its?—pal, then at me. Spit-scared, I'd say.

* * *

_ONE HOUR LATER:_

Well, the Guzzlers sure left in a hurry, loudly announcing that they were going, and that it was my fault that they weren't going to be around to protect the Enterprise. I told the crew what I did, and now everyone's congratulating me.

"You never fail to amaze me, Trip," Archer says to me.

"Thanks, Captain," I reply. Ah, and next up in line...

"Your ingenuity is a credit to the human species."

"Well thanks, T'Pol. Did you hurt yourself admitting that?" Yep, proof positive that, emotions or not, a Vulcan can still glare.

"Milk and cookies?" Travis asks me. I nod. "Maybe I should try that after all."

"Good work, Trip!" Hoshi tells me.

"What, no congratulatory kiss?" I ask.

"Well, I'd rather not," Malcolm says, since he was the next in line to shake my hand.

Just you wait, Lieutenant. Just you wait. One day...


	9. Remembering Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers: 1.01-1.02 "Broken Bow."

  
Author's notes: Spoilers: 1.01-1.02 "Broken Bow."

dedicated to: once more, Layla & Shi_shi2525 have provided the inspiration of this. Shi_Shi, I bow to your power and influenceâ€”Hoshi's ancestry is an allowance to you. the title is taken with great respect from African proverb of "Work is good, provided you do not forget to live." (from the same book). This takes place one uneventful week after "Trip and the Onion". The Enterprise seems to have finally left the run-down & very bad neighborhood.and entered a merely strange one. the *Siiruu* biology is borrowed from Earthly fishes. everything in dreams stems someway-or-other from reality, however strangely or tenuous the connection. this is the origin of "Stinky". comment from my Hoshi muse: "In the original concept draft, Malcolm was the one unconcious. I don't know how I let myself be talked into being conked out.  


* * *

Phlox was the only one who was taking the news well.

Malcolm ammended that thought: Phlox was the only one from Enterprise who was taking the news well. "It's nothing to worry about, Captain," he said into the communicator to Enterprise. "The _Siiruu_ say that we can take Ensign Sato with us after she recovers."

Trip grabbed the communicator out of Phlox's hand. "No, Capt, the _Siiruu_ ain't taking Hoshi to any of their hospitalsâ€”and I'm starting to wonder if they have any at all." Trip listened to Archer's reply. "They aren't moving her, and they won't let us move her. Some bull about divining her fate and their destiny." Listening. "Understood, sir. Tucker out," and closed the communicator. "We're bringing her up to Enterprise," Trip announced to the humans, _Siiruu_ , and Denobulan in earshot.

"You dare not," said the nearest _Siiruu_ , a new-male with shiny grey feather-like structures that were nearly true feathers, but not quite.

"Oh I do dare," Trip said, about two steps from getting in new-his face. "In fact, I'm doing right now."

That one opened new-his beak, and three needles slid forwards from the muscle grooves which normally held them. Tri-fanged, Trip noted, trying not to hear the deliberate _click_ ing of _Siiruu_ talons against the rock ground. "Do you offer your fate for addition, or your flesh for subtraction?"

Phlox pulled Trip back just in time to avoid being sliced open. The new-male didn't follow them.

"Commander, you can thank me later," Phlox said. "Right now, I need you to be more helpful and less argumenative."

"Doc, these people areâ€”"

"Well within their rights, Commander Tucker. This is their planet, and you should consider that they weren't obligated to accept our offer to help treat Ensign Sato."

"'Treat'? They aren't doing anything! They're just standing around, thumbs up their buttsâ€”if they have anyâ€”and waiting for something to happen."

"They're checking for demons," Crewman Cutler said, interjecting as she walked by. "They won't do anything if they think the results are faulty."

"What makes you so sure?" Trip wanted to know.

Cutler raised a corner of her lip in a half-smile. "Three years Catholic schooling in the back of beyond. That's where they have the _really_ old traditions." She didn't mention when she nearly became a nun.

"I believe humans have a like mind on this," Phlox said.

"You're shi++ing me, right?" Trip asked. "How the hell do humans approve of the sort of crap these birdbrains are doing?"

Phlox, looking completely nonbugged, replied with, "'There is special providence in the fall of every sparrow.'"

Normally, Malcolm would have enjoyed the look on Trip's face, or just at the Commander being proved wrong. But not now; most definately and completely not now!

He wasn't looking at the Commander at all. He was sitting at Hoshi's side, his hand on hers. The _Siiruu_ had forbade him from holding her handâ€”the risk of changing fate and destiny, they said, was too great to risk. The fact that she was even alive after this, they said and Phlox agreed, was a minor miracle...so Malcolm resolved to say prayers of THANK YOU! to every deity he knew of. Just as soon as Hoshi recovered. "Hoshi," Malcolm said quietly soft, his voice for her alone. "Hoshi, it's me, Malcolm."

Hoshi made a little sound, almost a murmur; and the _Siiruu_ assigned to keep watch over the fallen body of Hoshi Sato, old-she nearly crowed at the change. There was a rapid-fire conversation in canary chirps between old-her and the new-he that'd argued with Trip not long before now.

"Hoshi," Malcolm said, afraid of what might've happened to her mind. "Hoshi, do you remember anything?"

* * *

_HOSHI'S PAST:_

I get out of the helicopter after the Vulcan does. Vorrkerr or something along those lines; is it possible for a Vulcan to be a prince? Because that's what I think of when I look at him. The harsh sunlight and dry air don't seem to bother him as much as me.

Some of the locals, children they seem to be, call out in a language that isn't Arabic, and Arabic's the only language of this area that I know even half-well. Suddenly the prospect of spending a month in the Afar Route, a traditionalist enclave for the preservation of ancient ways, doesn't seem so appetizing.

Out of one of the tents comes a handful of people, humans all of them by their appearance. Only one of them isn't as dark as the others...in fact, he's downright Caucasian! "Good morning," he tells us, first in Arabic, then in British English. His accent's definately there, though it doesn't render the Arabic incomprehensable. In a moment of stupidity, I half expect him to say he represents the Raj.

This is morning? I think my hair's already starting to stick to my neck.

"It isâ€”pleasant," Vorrkerr agrees in English, American English. "My papers," handing them over to him.

"What makes you think I'm in charge?" he asks, accepting the papers.

"You accepted the papers."

He whispers something to the man standing next to him, and that man looks like a chief or king. "I might just be the errand boy," the first man says, "or the village idiot." He opens the sheaf and skims over it. "You're a Vulcan."

"Your grasp of the obvious is quite firm."

If he noticed the slight, he didn't respond to it. "Did you read anything about the Afar before you came to this part of Africa?"

"Yes."

He nods, as though he expected that answer. "Let me guess; you read about the salt caravans of men and camels, right?" Vorrkerr nods. "Then you missed the chapter added after your people showed up. Most tribes don't like Vulcans."

"That is illogical. How many Vulcans have they met?"

Now the man looked like he was about to laugh, in the Vulcan's face no less! "You think you're the first Vulcan to want to walk the salt caravan route? Now that's illogical, making an assumption like that.

"I'll tell you flatly, since I've said it so many times before: They see your kind as a bad spirit, worse than the Ifrit or Djinns. You stay here, or show up at any point along the way, and these people will vanishâ€”almost literally. So I suggest, Mr Vulcan, that you head back to the 'choper, and go back to your Embassy enclave."

Then he utterly ignores the Vulcan, and turns to face me. Oh dear, I'm not dressed for this sort of weather, let alone the culture...am I?

"Your papers, please," he asks me in clear Arabic. I hand them to him, and wait as he leafs through each paper, one by one. I can't help sweating, even a pant or three. With a smile, he hands me my papers back after two minutes, though it feels like five. "University of Delhi?" he asks me, still in Arabic. "You're a long way from home."

"I came," I say, though my speech is broken Arabic, only partly from the heat already taking its toll on me, "to study the surviving Afar language. I'd like to learn it."

He translates this into the local language for the benefit of his companions, and they all laugh. I feel like shriveling up and hiding somewhereâ€”and that feeling isn't from the heat. "This is the age of space exploration," he tells me. "Dozens and more of alien species, each with many languages of their own. Why would you want to learn the speech of the Afar people?" His look is as piercing as the noonday sun must be...and if this is only the morning...

"I like people," I say, mentally kicking myself over how stupid I must sound. "And I'm probably not going to go into deep space." That and one of my language teachers reccomended learning a few human languages outside of my own _lingua franca_ 's language family.

And again he translates my words. At least I think those're my wordsâ€”maybe he's just making a snide remark.

"Malcolm Reed," he introduces himself, without any titles or offices appended to his name.

"Hoshi Sato," I say, leaving unsaid and un-implied that I'm gunning for my doctorate.

He nods, though an eyebrow of his is up partway. Probably wondering about my name. "Let's get you some water, shall we?" he asks, and leads me towards one of the few tents.

* * *

_THE PRESENT:_

Elisabeth jotted down notes to give her something to do. The _Siiruu_ had decided that Hoshi didn't have any demons, so now they were watching Hoshi intently, watching and listening. According to Phlox, the next step was to shout questions at destinyâ€”in this case, at Hoshi.

She looked over her notes...[i]' _Siiruu_ can be born as either male or female; these are refered to by means of pronouns which translate as young-he and young-she. When one of these reaches adulthood, or puberty, I'm not yet sure; a young-he becomes female, and a young-she becomes male; these have the pronouns of new-she and new-he. Old-he and old-she are used for _Siiruu_ who are molting out of their current gender; I don't know if they then become neuter, or just continue the cycle.'[/i]

Elisabeth nodded to herself. Yeah, Hoshi'd be proud of that. Proof positive that Elisabeth'd been listening to her on all those plane and train trips.

The sound of feet on stone, near-constant as it was lately, caught her attention. Yes, it was Malcolm pacing yet more. Back and forth, back and forth. Like an expectant father, Elisabeth thought to herself, and allowed herself a pang of regret for what might-have-been. Her and Malcolm.

But Elisabeth hadn't ever objected to Hoshi's having him. To her mind, it was better her cousin than anyone else!

Then there was another set of walking on stones. Commander Tucker had arrived, and was saying something about the Enterprise.

Elisabeth tilted her head so her good ear was facing the conversation, and she moved her hand so any casual observers would think she was sketching the local scenery.

"Captain Archer wants you up there, and he wants you up there now!"

"Then you'll just have to inform the Captain that I'm not leaving here." Not without Hoshi, he mentally added.

"You wanna be court-martialed? That can happen."

"Try it," Malcolm said challenging. "You might find I can't be court-martialed."

"Dammit, you're theâ€”"

"Commander Tucker, I'm flattered that you think I'm the only member of Enterprise's crew who knows how to fire a torpedo. But, since I don't like seeing people wallow in delusions, I have to break it to you that I'm not the only armory officer on Enterprise."

"I could force you up there."

Malcolm gave a wry little smile, only half-hearted though. "Commander, to do that, you'd have to render me unconcious. And I don't think an unconcious armory officer would do any good in a battle senario." He paused. "Besides, if I'm being court-martialed, or readied for a court-martial, I couldn't & shouldn't man that station anyway."

Trip half-growled and half-grumbled.

Elisabeth hoped Hoshi recovered before there was blood spilt...on anyone's part.

* * *

_HOSHI'S PAST:_

"So," I asked my cousin as we walked down the Nature Preserve's trail here in Madagascar, "how was your visit to Cyprus?" I have to admit, being somewhat jealousâ€”I've not yet visited the unified island off the Turkish coastline.

We're here to visit an old college friend of mine: Pinar Booth.

"It was nice," Elisabeth tells me. "I went all around Cyprus, north to south, east to west...and I have the sunburn to prove it," with a grin, which I return. Then it hits us, and hard: That smell...what is that?? Elisabeth asks the same question. We walk around the shack, and see Pinar talking withâ€”with Malcolm.

I think it's Malcolm who smells. Almost like a lemur. "Lemur?" I ask in Malagasy.

Pinar nods. "The one who is smelling, he says in Arabic that he was walked on by a lemur species that he couldn't find in the guidebook." Granted, those books are never perfect, but still. "Stinky."

I like the nickname...his personal musk's probably quite nice-smelling.

Malcolm looks from Pinar to me. "That was definately not Arabic," he says in Arabic. The look on Pinar's face practically mutters 'tourist' to me. "Could the three of you teach it to me?" which raises him a notch or two in her estimationâ€”willingness to learn.

"It depends," Pinar says, this time in Arabic.

"On what?" Malcolm asks.

Standard question, I decide after sharing a look with Pinar. "What's your first language?" I ask him.

Malcolm looks trapped, caught like a deer in the headlights, a lemur in a sauna, a hippo at a weight-watcher's convention. Then his face relaxes back to normal. "I don't have one," he says, and honestly.

"You don't?" I can't help but ask.

"That's right."

"Malcolm," I say, "everybody has a first language."

He shakes his head. "Not me."

Pinar sighs, about ready to throw up her hands. "He's all yours, lady of the Middle Kingdom's neighbor, conquerer of Kublai's fleet." There are times that the Malagasy language's tendancy to form things so you don't have to give a person's nameâ€”it can get annoying at times.

And there are times when it's used for a joke. "That would make me," I reply in Malagasy, "nine centuries old."

"Well," Pinar says, switching to Arabic, "you do realize that there can be only one, don't you?" Now, old friend, are you making a statement of faith, or a joke about your 'Highlander' obsession?

* * *

_THE PRESENT:_

Trip was over at the Enterprise shuttle, having gone up to the ship, helped out in the firefight that'd taken place between the Enterprise and the Mystery 'Ship, then brought down some guys from his own department to forcibly bring Malcolm up to the Enterprise.

Elisabeth was still at her rock, but now she was learning a new branch of medicine: the sort with toxic and venomous species...for she was trying to help a young-he whose center venom fang wasn't moving very well. Phlox was acting as one advisor, and a _Siiruu_ medic was also advising.

And Travis Mayweather walked up to Malcolm, who was watching Hoshi, and Malcolm was sitting alongside a few score of _Siiruu_ who were also keeping eyes on Hoshiâ€”though not for the same reason as Malcolm was.

"Lieutenant?" Travis asked.

"Ensign," Malcolm replied, a lot calmer than he would've spoken to Tucker. He was right, in his eyes, to have told the Ones Without Names that the Commander's name was 'Food'.

"You've been down here for days."

"I'm aware of the cycles that planets are wont to make," Malcolm said.

"Have you had any sleep? Anything to eat?"

"Not tired, and not hungry. Next question."

"You have to sleep," Travis said. "Everybody does. And eat too."

Malcolm gave a tiny baby yawn. "I was once invited to a fasting contest with the Dali Lama. Neither one of us slept, nor did we eat. I would've beaten him too, if it wasn't for the fact that it would've lost him considerable faceâ€”given a form of dishonor," he clarified for Travis and any _Siiruu_ who were interested.

"Come on up," Travis said. "I've got this game, like nothing you've ever seen before." Malcolm raised an eyebrow, and wondered if Mayweather had any inkling of how many games Reed had seen. "It'll take your mind off things," Travis said, trying to help out.

"A game?" Malcolm asked, doing his level best not to laugh. "What sort of a game can do that?" To his mind, only Hoshi recovered could have such an effect.

The game, Travis told him, was one that Boomers had developed into a board game with a rulebook...though he didn't doubt that it preceeded Mankind's expansion into space. "Even T'Pol's agreed to play."

Further discussion was prevented by the sound of human feet approaching. Many human feet. Not enough to outnumber or even equal the scores of _Siiruu_ who were present by now...but enough to take Malcolm into custody.

And Malcolm didn't doubt that that was their intentionâ€”not with Trip Tucker leading them forth.

"You had a chance," Trip said. "We're placing you under arrest. You can come easy, or we can do our impression of a bar-room brawl."

Malcolm had to give Trip credit for one thing, at least: not succumbing to being completely cliched.

Hoshi coughed, a sound that shook Malcolm's senses. She was back!! "Mal-col-lm?" Hoshi asked for, in a weak and broken-up voice.

Just then, the ground shook. Not even a 1.1 earthquake, but a tremor they could all feel. Though their instincts screamed for them to fly to safety, all of the _Siiruu_ kept their feet on the ground. Similarly, the Humans and Denobulan also ignored their own instincts.

Then, before everyone's eyes, something happened to the rock that Hoshi's hand lay upon: water sprang up from under it, flowing down the stonefaces.

Malcolm was afraid that the _Siiruu_ would want to keep Hoshi for themselves...their own prophet, or deity. No matter how much Malcolm wanted to worship her all by himself.

A _Siiruu_ , a young-she by the look of her emerald featherys, addressed Malcolm: "You may take her to your roost."

The new-he from earlier, new-he looked at Trip with the look that new-his kind used for their smiles. "You may go now," new-he said.

  * ~ HOSHI'S PAST: 



Mayan pyramids to all sides of us, the tour guides not running today for tourists. This is where he said to meet him. But where is he?

"Where are we?" Elisabeth asked, looking at the mammoth stone building in front of us.

I check our location with the map. "The Pyramid of the Magician."

"Please don't tell me we have to walk up all those stairs," Elisabeth begs. Based on the sound of her voice, I'd guess that her eyes are wide at the sight of all those stairs. According to the travel brochure, each of the four sides has an equal number of stairs; and when you add up the total number of stairs, you have the number of days in the year.

"Well, I would have prefered a witness," Malcolm says; me and Elisabeth jump a little, since he did sneak up on us. "But you can stay down here if you like."

"It's safe?" she asks.

Malcolm nods. "Completely." To me, "Shall we ascend?"

"Sure," I say.

"But no funny business!" Elisabeth says.

Malcolm gives her a look that says 'who, me?'

So we go up the stairs, just me and Malcolm. He's carrying a sachel on his shoulder, and he won't tell me what's in it. Alls I'm carrying is my backpack; which would be empty, were it not for my camera in it. I'm not sure how long it took for us to reach the summit of this pyramid: after a while, I just focused on taking one more step, then another...one after another.

Finally, we reach the top, and the both of us, we sit down and gasp for breath. We get our second or third wind...And then IT happened!:

The sun performed it's annual trickâ€”and I miss it, because just then, Malcolm reaches into his sachel and holds out his fist.

I uncurl each finger, one by one...And see what he had hidden:

Two golden rings, not blemished by fancy jewels or stones.

"You gotâ€”They're justâ€”I, wellâ€”" I stammer. I think I stammered for a few minutes before saying "Yes!"

Malcolm didn't mind the stammering. He just smiled and knelt at my feet. "Mi'lady," he says, full of chivalry.

* * *

_LATER, ON ENTERPRISE:_

It had taken some time, but Hoshi was finally recovered enough to hobble around on crutches. It wasn't that she didn't trust Phlox, but the thought of a bonesetter jellyfish wrapped around _any_ part of her body...

"Shall I open the door for you, Musa?" Malcolm asked, envying the crutches their constantly-touching of his wife...and yet hating that the crutches were ever required.

"Malcolm, sweet," Hoshi said. "I didn't bring the water to the surface, so please stop calling me Moses."

Malcolm nodded, and waved his hand in front of the door, making it open for her. "As you wish," unwittingly quoting the movie 'The Princess Bride'.

"Over here, over here!" Travis invited them to a table. Malcolm sat down, after helping Hoshi sit down...despite Trip's presence at the table. "Now, about that game I mentioned..."

"I thought you said T'Pol was going to play as well," Malcolm asked.

Travis shrugged. "Something urgent appearantly came up."

Trip snickered. "I bet."

Shrugging, Travis shuffled the deck of cards. "Each card has a question," he explained. "Everyone but the person who draws the card has to answer the question."

"What's the point then?" Trip asks, not getting it.

"Well, if you don't have an answer, then you don't have to answer," Travis said. He set the deck down. "I'll show you..." he motioned for Hoshi to draw the first card of the game.

"'Favorite place...on Earth'," she quoted.

"University of Delhi," Malcolm said with a smile on his face.

"Grandma Tucker's house," Trip said. When Travis didn't say anything, Trip said "C'mon, Travis, answer the question."

"That's what I was saying. I don't have a favorite place on the Earthâ€”it's in space. Therefore, I can't answer...and I get a point."

"Do I get a point?" Hoshi asked.

Travis shook his head. "Dealers aren't allowed to answer, whether they have one or not."

"Oh."

He shrugged, then picks up the next card. "Oh, good one; 'most awkward relative'."

"Emperor Hirohito," Hoshi says.

"Dowager Empress," Malcolm says.

"Empress of where?" Trip wants to know. "The questionâ€”"

"Didn't specify a living relative," Malcolm answered. "And the answer is China."


	10. A Musefic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Metafic.

  
Author's notes: Metafic.  
  
This takes place as part of the series, since the characters' reference points are based upon it; yet it is not a true member of the fic series.  


* * *

As we open the story to read it, Malcolm and Hoshi are feeding each other ice cream (since Hoshi's allergic to grapes), Porthos is talking to his lawyer on the phone, and Phlox is reading a dictionary (since nobody ever explains what 'friend' means). Trip Tucker, on the other hands, is polishing a glock.

"How did you get that thing past the weapons—and metal—detectors when we left Earth?" Hoshi asks, the ice cream dribbling onto Malcolm's shirt.

"Lovely," Malcolm mutters. "This's going to be a Wet T-Shirt Story before page 3." In a conversational voice, before The Author can reply that The Author has never written a W.T-S. story before (and thus wouldn't mind practicing), Malcolm says, "For that matter, how'd you get that kind of a gun past the censors."

Trip shrugged for the sake of shrugging. "Hoshi, did you hear something?" he asked, instead of politely replying with 'because it wasn't as prohibited a weapon as a G-String.'

"I thought a capital G meant 'gravity'," said Liz Cutler, who was wondering when her name'd been abbreviated.

Trip shrugged again since his contract didn't say he couldn't shrug as often as he wanted to. "Whatever," he said. "Anyway, I brought this," correctly anticipating the upcoming question, and thus sparing The Author several excess paragraphs of conversation, "because I like old-fashioned ways of gettting rid of rivals when I'm pressing my suit."

"I didn't know that Enterprise had a dry cleaners," said Travis, who was here because Shi_Shi2525 likes him, and since he didn't know if he would be in the rest of the story. "In fact, I didn't know there was anything other than the Bridge—and that one planet we visited recently."

"You're forgetting the ice-teroid you and I built a snowman on," Malcolm said, trying not to dribble any ice cream onto Hoshi's T-Shirt...particularly since this was a fictional room filled with other men.

"Hard to get more old-fashioned," Hoshi said, her reply having been written before Travis' entry into the story, "than rolling a boulder off a cliff."

Trip writes that down, grinning maniacally, and runs out of the room.

"Thank you, my dear," Malcolm mutters, "for giving him that idea."

Since Hoshi is a written character, she knows that Malcolm was using sarcasm. "Oh sure, this coming from the guy who's only flippant when I'm either unconcious or learning I'm pregnant?!!?"

"To be fair," Phlox said, himself puzzled as to when his rank had been dropped, "that has taken up a considerable amount of the stories thus far." In retaliation, Hoshi threw a Coconut Cream Pie that just happened to be in one hand at the time.

Dr. Phlox ducked, and the pie struck Captain Archer in the face, asphixiating him.

Porthos looked over from the phone. "I guess his contract ran out a mite prematurely," and resumed talking on the phone. "Look, Bob, you're my lawyer, right? So you're supposed to be able to help me with this—I don't CARE if it's copywritten!"

Hoshi, who hadn't been paying attention to anything since throwing the pie & thus ridding herself of a commanding officer, said "Hey, Mr. Author (despite RE:s and FB:s to the contrary), when do I just get a nice, quiet, relaxing day by myself??"

"Right Now," sayeth The Author...

* * *

It was a nice day. A quiet day. Hoshi was by herself, alone, alone, all all alone. She was alone on a wide, wide sea. And for all that she was relaxed, Hoshi knew that no saint would take pity on—

* * *

"I didn't mean I wanted an outtake of 'Rhine Of The Ancient Mariner'!" Hoshi exclaimed & explained, since she wasn't sure which descriptive to use.

"At least you didn't have anything chasing you," Rygel said, visiting from PurePilot and the FaDoPi there (friends & defenders of Pilot). "Like rabid fans. Or worse."

"There's something worse than fans?" Hoshi asked, curious despite herself. Literally.

"Bad movies," said Crow from MST3K (mystery science theater 3000), the tv series.

"The tale of the Ancient Mariner wouldn't be too far off," said Malcolm, who heard only what Hoshi said. Malcolm had been forbidden to do voice-overs ever since it'd been discovered that this particular ficverse's M.Reed had a tendancy to think such thoughts that The Author's blood sugar levels rose to dangerous levels...and The Author feared negative reactions from any diabetic readers.

Malcolm continued, having patiently waited through that explanation. "This entire fic series started off after our Author read a poster for the movie _SOLARIS_ which asked 'How Far Would You Go For A Second Chance?'..." and then Malcolm realized that he'd been abused—used to deliver an infodump by The Author, who Himself was grinning.

"I wonder..." said Hoshi, mostly to lead into the next story fragment...

* * *

category: AU (what if, malcolm hadn't convinced himself to go on Enterprise with Hoshi?)

* * *

Hoshi rolled over in bed, looking at her lo^er with doe eyes (not that there was anything wrong with her normal ones, or to imply that she was a faun—that's another ficverse's tale). She was willing to ignore the tendancy of The Author's keyboard to reverse some Vs into ^s.

Trip opened his eyes, having fallen asleep after being sure that his love, Hoshi, had been satisfied in their coita| bliss. He didn't mention that she seemed to have had some prior love-making experience, and he didn't mention it because he was a good gentleman—and a Southerner to boot.

As one fanfic enjoyed by The Author had said, that beckoned thoughts of leather and lace...'bad ensign'.

* * *

"TRIP!!" the muses hollered, having realized only too late that Trip had run, not into the Spare Bunks door, but into the StoryWriting door.

"I'll go in and get him," Malcolm offered.

"Don't give The Author a chance to work on a slash story," Hoshi said to him.

"Don't worry," Malcolm said. "I'll club Mr. Tucker, and—"

"BDSM," said Liz, grateful for another line, however short. She was still trying to figure out where the Elgin Marbles were.

"Oh," Malcolm said, and sat back down—despite having not been explicitly mentioned when he'd gotten up.

"Don't look at me," Porthos said. "I'm not going in there!" He was, after all, only a puppy...despite having been on the Enterprise for over a season. Wasn't that more than a year?

And here, dear and gentle readers, is where The Author ends this story...for The Author has just seen _SOLARIS_ , and gotten an idea on how to continue the series.

"What about the Greys?" asks Thor from the _Stargate SG-1_ universe. "You promised to write a story with them in a novel position."

"In time, all things shall be," pronounces The Author, using the non-linguistic application of 'pronounces'...like 'the king pronounced a new law'.

* * *

To both the right and left of the missing piece, there were undamaged images carved into the stone. "Humanoid," Hoshi said, being very generous with the application of the word.

"Mostly," Elizabeth agreed. There was a peace of sorts between them, though there was no certainty of how long it would (live/last). "You think the Commander identified them correctly?"

"As 'chupacabras'?" Malcolm asked. "If Commander Tucker did, then that would mean that this particular species has been to Earth within the last few centuries." He paused. "That's a firestorm I'd rather not see."

Hoshi nodded. "Vulcan vs the Contactetees." The word, a phonetic slurring of 'Contact E T,' had become something of a nasty slur—particularly in light of certain Vulcan statements made after the Vulcans had contacted Earth:

"'We find no evidence that your planet has been host to extraterrestrial cultures'," Cutler said, quoting one Vulcan of eighty-five years ago. "And if we find evidence to the contrary..." she left it at that.

Hoshi hummed a few bars of the theme to Spielburg's Close Encounters Of The Third King, and saw Elizabeth wince. She saw Malcolm lean closer to the screen, examining something; (she gave his butt a cursory glance before) asking "See somthing?"

* * *

"Who are you to end this story??" Trip demands to know, to spice the tale with some conflict.

"I Am The Author, your God!"

"oh," sayeth the muses, who hush up.


	11. A Way In The Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edicated to: Shi_Shi2525. (or should I say "blamed on Shi_Shi2525 ?). :) Also a big THANKS to the television show _The Babel Project_, which inspired the Kelam Ketir (which does NOT exist) in this story. the title is taken with great respect from Hannibal's quote, "We must either find a way, or make one." I heard that one on 'The History Channel'. I think they were quoting Hannibal Barca, enemy of Rome. This takes place a few weeks after leaving the *Siiruu* world, much to Trip's relief.or not.

  
Author's notes: edicated to: Shi_Shi2525. (or should I say "blamed on Shi_Shi2525 ?). :) Also a big THANKS to the television show _The Babel Project_, which inspired the Kelam Ketir (which does NOT exist) in this story. the title is taken with great respect from Hannibal's quote, "We must either find a way, or make one." I heard that one on 'The History Channel'. I think they were quoting Hannibal Barca, enemy of Rome. This takes place a few weeks after leaving the *Siiruu* world, much to Trip's relief.or not.  


* * *

Elizabeth Cutler finished swallowing her bottle of beer. Hoshi managed to refrain from rolling her eyes, but she didn't refrain from wondering why her cousin'd come down planetside; after all, there weren't any plagues or other things which would require a doctor. "It's delicious," Cutler said, complimenting the brew.

"Are thanked, for gracious compliment," said the soliatary humanoid native in the hut with them...or rather, twenty natives collectively forming one humanoid body. The natives were obligate colonials, with the ones in this hut holding a human shape to put the real humans at ease. Elizabeth tried to remember which Earth creatures the Puu-aa reminded her of, finally deciding on two. Byrozoans, with their habit of gathering together into colonies to maintain their own temperatures better. And leeches, with the whole stretchable and collapsable bodies.

And their grammar, Hoshi had found, completely side-stepped the issue of individual and group; hence the thanks given.

"Not wanting beer?" the native(s) asked Hoshi, the freckled face aimed at her. It was a physical gesture for her sake: there weren't any eyes or noses on the face; only freckles, just like the arms, legs, and torso.

"Thank you, but no," Hoshi said. "I don't drink."

"Not drink?" the native said with considerable skepticism. Hoshi still hadn't figured out which body (part) generated the voice.

"Against my religion."

"Against what?" the native asked, puzzled by the new and foreign concept. "Not going to drink, no preparing for disassembling in rain?"

Hoshi went taut. "Rain?" she repeated.

"We don't go to pieces," Elizabeth explained to the Puu-aa. "When it rains, we stay in one piece." Out the corner of her eye, she could see Hoshi's paled face. "Though, how long is it going to rain?"

The native hesitated. There were no numbers in their language, Hoshi thought; not even a need for One, Two, More Than Two. This could make counting rainy days more difficult.

"Night, no day. Only—What is word for concentrated light?"

"Laser."

"Night, no day. Only bursts of laser interspersing the gloom." A clap of thunder sounded just then. "Close," the native said. "Crossing mountain range soon," which suggested a strong sense of time, even without numbers. Another thunderclap.

Another, and another. "Raining soon," the two humans were informed. A minute later, Hoshi's communicator chirped.

* * *

**ENTERPRISE BRIDGE:**

"There is still no response from the shuttle, Captain," T'Pol said. Aside from her voice, the mood on the Bridge was one of silence. A morbid, respectful-of-the-dead silence.

Archer didn't like that sort of silence. Not in a situation like this. "Try—again," Archer told her. When T'Pol didn't, Archer asked her, "Was there something in 'try again' that you didn't understand?"

"No. However, I see no point in continuing an obviously fruitless exercise. It is entirely plausible that their communications were among the first things damaged by the lightening."

Archer's feet were not looking forwards to pacing, so the Captain sat down in his chair, looking out the viewscreen at the planet below. He was starting to wish he hadn't sent a shuttlepod down there to pick up Hoshi and Crewman Cutler. Trip had thought he could get planetside & back to Enterprise before the annual storms arrived.

It had been a volunteer mission, though Archer couldn't help but wonder if having both Trip and Malcolm on the shuttle had contributed in any way to the disaster.

No!, he shook his head. The lighening had done it, it alone was responsible. And if Archer hadn't known any better, he would have sworn that the electrical bolts had mistaken the shuttle for a bioballoon. They'd been seen on the early scans of this planet. Balloon spheres with a metal-silicone outer crust that was a near match for the shuttlepod, they were now being struck by bolts of lightening—and exploding!, scattering their living contents in all directions.

It didn't help any that there was a layer to this world's atmosphere, a layer unknown to almost every other Minshara-class planet. A layer of conductiveness and static charges...perfect for generating stronger bolts of lightening.

Jonathan wasn't looking forwards to making another call. He didn't relish having to tell Hoshi that her husband was, in all likelyhood, dead.

But, he knew, it had to be done. And as Captain, it fell to him to do such a thing. "Open a channel," he instructed.

"Captain—"

Archer interupted T'Pol. "Not to the shuttle this time. Open a channel to the away team on the surface."

"Ensign Sato," Hoshi said when the connection was made. There was a bit of static in the conversation from atmospheric interference, but the two sides were mutually intelligable. "Yes sir?" she sounded a little miserable already, Archer thought to himself, which only made his job all the harder.

"I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this," Archer said, pausing as there was a sound of a comm striking a packed-dirt floor, then being picked up, "but Lieutenant Reed and Commander Tucker have crashed into the planet, on their way to pick you and Crewman Cutler up."

"What?" Hoshi asked, her voice flat and empty already. "What happened?"

"As near as we can tell," he told Hoshi, "their shuttlepod was descending through the atmosphere, when it was struck by lightening. That was when it started plummetting towards one of the swamps." One swamp among thousands that littered the continent. "We tried raising them on comms, but their electrical systems seem to have shorted out."

"Dead?" Hoshi asked in a quavering voice.

"We think so."

"Are—are you sure?" Hoshi asked, her voice sounding small.

"As sure as we can be," Jonathan said. "I'm sorry." It sounded inadequate, he even knew it was inadequate...but then, whatever was adequate for telling someone that a loved one had died? "We're not going to give up hope, Hoshi, and we're going to try again when the storm lets up."

There was silence on the other end. "Hoshi?"

Hoshi didn't say anything for a minute, then only one word.

"Mausenram, Captain," Elizabeth said into the comm, repeating the word for Enterprise. "A single rainstorm can last for eleven days, and that's normal in the rainy season."

The name sounded familiar, but Archer couldn't quite place it. "Where is Mausenram?"

"Northern India, sir," Cutler said, just before the line went dead. Elizabeth's saying 'in the Khazi Hills' wasn't transmitted.

"Interference from the mid- and lower-level atmospheric storms," T'Pol said, "have cut us off from the away team."

* * *

**PLANETSIDE:**

It had been half an hour since the Enterprise had called, according to Elizabeth's wristwatch. Hoshi was leaning against a dry wall, curled up on herself, and reciting a few comforting _dua_ to herself. She wasn't talking to anyone, not her cousin, and not the native.

"Disturbed by rain?" that native asked Elizabeth.

"She grew up in a really rainy place," Cutler said. "I think she joined Starfleet just to get away from it."

"Escape rain??"

When Cutler shrugged, "Not disturbed by rain?" the Puu-aa asked Elizabeth. It was making a visible effort to stay unified, despite twitches over most of its sitting-down body.

"Nope," she answered it. "In fact, I love the rain."

"As do Puu-aa. Resisting urge to do love love love in the cooled-down springs."

Elizabeth refrained from pointing out that she hadn't meant 'love' in that sense of the word. "'Cooled-down'? As in, they used to be hot springs?"

"Correct. Not as warm as prior to rains, warmer than glacier-melt from late winter."

Cutler shifted uncomfortably, well aware of how broad a range that was. "Does the water steam or boil in the springs?"

"During rains, rare rare. Before rains, ever always." Another bodies-spanning twitch. "Is bad for human?"

Elizabeth nodded. "Boiling water tends to scald our skins, hurting us in body and mind."

"Then...why human on world with Puu-aa?"

"To talk to—" the word 'you' was a human concept, not a local one. "To talk to the Puu-aa," not mentioning that Enterprise hadn't been aware of overflowing hot springs.

"Correction. Not assembled human," pointing with two leech-fingers at Elizabeth, then Hoshi, then up to the sky. "Why is human on world with Puu-aa?"

"I think she just wanted to say Hi to you," she said, refering to Hoshi, who had whimpered herself to sleep by now, "and learn your language."

"And human?" now pointing to Elizabeth, who was grateful that the leech-finger's mouth was attached to its hand, not waving on the fingertip.

"I...was curious," not saying her other reason. Elizabeth had joined the Enterprise team—prior to learning that Hoshi was going to be on the ship as well—to do something that the Great Hoshi Sato hadn't done. The list of such things was not a long one, and it included things like going to Cyprus, and being drugged by that pollen planet.

She could still remember one of her earliest boyfriends, a steady guy by the fairly common name of Chekov. The two of them were going steady, an unbreakable pair...and then Hoshi Sato had wafted into town.

It'd taken a long time before Elizabeth had even begun to forgive Hoshi for breaking her and Chekov up.

* * *

**MEANWHILES:**

The shuttlepod had by now settled into the swamp muck, sinking no further than a third into the organic-rich mud. There wasn't much damage from the trees struck on the way down, since cellulose was an unknown material here, just like calcium. It'd been like plowing through an origami thicket. Each tree was really a half-dozen or more creatures living together, so the damage was minimized.

The external damage, at least.

Within the slightly-cracked shuttlepod, however, Trip Tucker was rather wishing that the two of them were back in the slowly-freezing shuttlepod in space. Trip was banged-up, bruised, and sore on a dozen spots of his body. He was also trying not to fall asleep, since he was worried that he had a concussion or something.

When he heard Malcolm wincing, waking up, Trip said, "Just on a hunch, I think your leg's either really twisted, or slightly broken."

"How comforting," Malcolm said. Trip didn't remark that the Universe must've had a scale or something, since, other than the sprained-or-broken leg, Malcolm wasn't that badly hurt from the crash.

"So, other than that, you okay?" Trip asked. It was a stupid question, he knew that as soon as he'd said it. But there wasn't really anything else to say...anything else would have sounded sadistic, given Reed's current state. A groan, and Malcolm said something in a language Trip didn't know. It sounded odd, full of consonants and vowels, yet overlaid with clicks and popping sounds. "What planet speaks that?" he asked.

"Earth," Malcolm said dryly. "Its part of the San language group."

"Oh," Trip said. "Hey, that reminds me, there's something I've been wondering...how many languages do you know?"

Malcolm considered. "About eighteen that I know the full range of words. Another dozen that I can speak haltingly in. And they're all human languages."

Trip looked at Reed skeptically. "And why didn't you sign up as one of Enterprise's linguists?"

"I think the shipboard joke is fairly accurate—I prefer blowing things up," he said; though the real reason, which he kept to himself, had been that back then, he hadn't wanted to press Hoshi...so he'd signed up on a station that wouldn't be constantly impinging upon her.

Or so he'd thought.

"I see," Trip said. "So, what correspondance course did you take to learn all those languages?"

"More of an upbringing. Ever hear of the Kelam Ketir Project?" Malcolm asked.

Trip shook his head. "Nope."

"Not many have. 'Many languages' the official name meant. When you grow up with one language, you can learn other languages fine...but you can't always explain to others just why a particular word is used in certain situations and not in others, in your first language. Kelam Ketir was an attempt to have polyglottal children who were masters of all the languages they encountered—and couldn't be stumped in explaining word usage."

"Okay," Trip said. "I suppose that might make sense, for some arm of some government. But Malcolm, I've just got one question."

"Go ahead," he replied, not bothering to say that it was more of an intellectual experiment by a couple of couples, not any government programme.

"You're a test tube baby?" Malcolm figuratively exploded into laughter, then stopped the explosion when there was a throb in his skull. "What? You just said you grew up in a Project."

"Programme, an experiment, like seeing how people survive in space for months on end. I was concieved and born the normal way, Trip," Malcolm said, still chuckling. "One hundred percent genetically normal human being. Homo sapiens sapiens all the way."

* * *

**THAT EVENING:**

Elizabeth watched as the Puu-aa fought against its inner nature, struggling not to break apart into its component pieces. It was a struggle that Elizabeth herself was familiar with, though in the human framework of experiences.

The fight against instinct, against envy, against various forms of—cides. What was the word for wanting one's cousin dead?, she wondered to herself, not for the first time; she could never remember the word, however many times she'd looked it up.

If Hoshi were to break up with Malcolm, she said to herself, she wouldn't take Malcolm in. Not out of spite towards him, never that. But Elizabeth was just tired of always getting Hoshi's hand-me-downs, the dregs she trailed behind her like a ship's wake.

Elizabeth, a full two years older than Hoshi, though she didn't always look like it, had lived in her cousin't shadow from Day One. She had no doubt that, should anyone from Enterprise come through the hut door, they'd rush immediately to the quivering and whimpering-in-her-sleep Hoshi...leave Elizabeth for later, if ever. And she knew that, in that senario, it wouldn't _entirely_ be Hoshi's fault for once. Hoshi wasn't really hydrophobic...just had major issues with the rain. And Malcolm's death.

That there, it was something Elizabeth could feel sorry for. Poor Malcolm.

"Eliz?" Hoshi asked, half-asleep, using an old childhood nickname.

There were times that Elizabeth wondered why she hadn't been born a boy. Perhaps, she'd always wondered if it would have pulled her out of Hoshi's massive shadow. That and, growing up, she'd wanted a more traditional name than 'Elizabeth'...and her parents had told her, that had she been a boy, she would have had a traditional name.

"I'm here," Elizabeth told Hoshi, reluctant to move. The Puu-aa's leftmost finger-leech fell off, but tried to re-attach itself—on the knee.

Vlad Cutler.

  * THE PAST: 



"Did you find any scorpions?" Malcolm asked as Hoshi came back to the group from behind a rock that jutted out of a cliffside.

Hoshi sat down in the midst of the group, looking forwards to another day of a traditional Afar meal. Milk and bread. Mostly a bread, sort of a bread. "Funny, Malcolm, funny." Several Afar laughed, remembering when Hoshi had been new here, and her first 'bathroom break' had resulted in her nearly being stung by a family of scorpions.

That had been years ago; and this year, there was an alien in their midst. It'd purchased a sweater before coming out to this desolate place: according to it, this land carried a chill during the day. It was used to hotter climates...and this was the hottest place on Earth.

It was an alien race called the KDL. This eight-eyed alien combined the features of a camel, a hammerhead shark, a pretty insect, and a pancake into one squashed-flat body. Like a chameleon, it could move each eye in a different direction from the others; eight different views all at once...Malcolm was afraid to ask if headaches were common.

"What is your world like?" an inquisitive Afar girl asked.

No blinking, not from an alien without eyelids. "Once, it was Paradise. Perfectly shaped to suit our needs. Dry, arid, windy. Perfection embodied.

"Then we of my kind, we KDL, embarked to survey the Cosmos. When we returned to our world, it had changed. It was Fallen, some religions would term it. It had become Hell."

"How so?" asked the tribe's Imam.

"The continent we had evolved upon, sunk from polar melting. Our entire phyla, exterpated from the very planet we had arisen upon." As morosely as a pancake arthropod could do, he scooped up a small cup of milk, and tossed its contents down his throat. " _HIC_ Is good drink." Several children laughed; to their minds, everyone knew that nobody could get drunk off of lactose-rich milk.

"But you can still go home, right?" Hoshi asked. "Even if it changed a little?"

"Little?? Would you inhabit a glaciated Earth? Land would continue to exist upon it, if changed in environs."

* * *

**SHUTTLEPOD, PRESENT DAY:**

"C'mon, c'mon," Trip said. "Keep talking." The human voice carried easily over the whispery lapping of water into the lowest part of the shuttlepod.

Malcolm grunted. "You're the one who can't sleep. Why does that mean you won't let me either?"

Trip grinned. "I don't believe in suffering alone."

He was grateful that at least Trip wasn't insisting Malcolm try standing up. Malcolm had a bad feeling that, if he did stand, however wobbly, his head would feel like it was about to cave in. Physical pain, he'd learned long ago, tended to affect the head in different ways—usually awkwardness, dizzyness, and such feelings were common.

So, Malcolm did something to try to relieve the pain—or at least to distract himself from it. He said something in a definately non-English language, and without a trace of accent. Trip was right: keep talking, keep busy.

"I'm sorry, should I get out the Vulcan dictionary?" Trip asked.

"Only if you want to," Malcolm joked. "That was the language of the Huichols, a people of Earth. What I said was 'All this is to understand, to comprehend, to have one's life.' Uru Temay said that, back in the 20th Century AD."

"That your personal credo, bucko?"

"Largely, yes," Malcolm confirmed. "I didn't think I had to leave Earth to have my life. Hoshi disagreed."

"So why didn't you stay on Earth while Hoshi went into space?" Trip asked, not seeing the matter.

Malcolm didn't say that, he suspected that if Hoshi'd gone into space without him, she would've ended up with Trip. "Part of the reason we'd gotten married in the first place: so we could go places together." "Ahh, I see. The puzzle starts to make sense. So, you two have any cottages or estates in merry ol' England to retire to after this tour of duty's over?"

Malcolm shot Trip as dirty a look as a wounded man could manage. "Ask Hoshi about hers. I look British to a degree, Mr. Tucker; I sound British because I learned English from a London native. If I were to speak Arabic to you, for example, I'd speak with a Somali accent."

"Then what about your name?"

"When I'd been born, I was given my grandfather's name; and he'd been a little bit British."

"And the 'Reed'?" Trip inquired. "Can't say you inherited that...well, actually, you could..."

Reed snorted. "It's a translation."

Trip made an 'oooh' sound. "So...is it 'Hoshi Reed' or 'Malcolm Sato'?"

"Neither. Hoshi kept her maiden name, because—" and he stopped, a look of alarm spreading over his face. Malcolm then said a 3-sylable curse word that didn't have—er,—able, or—ing in it.

He would have said more, but Trip intervened. "What happened? A worm burrowing through yuir butt?"

"Almost preferable, that. I can't believe I nearly forgot it!"

"What? Forgot what?"

"Hoshi's birthday is in two days. I can't believe I almost forgot it!"

"Don't worry, Malcolm. I'm sure she'd understand us being a day or so late, between being stuck here, and everything that's happened lately."

"I don't know..."

"Seriously, it's not a problem. Enterprise'll pull us outta here, then we can have a—"

"Quiet little celebration that only lasts half an hour."

"Half an hour?? C'mon, I've had heartburn that lasts longer than that."

Malcolm just looked at him quizzically. "Would you like a congratulations?"

Trip snorted. "You've never met my aunt Mabel," Trip said. "Anne Mabel Maria Tucker-Smith. When she planned a party, it didn't end for at least two days." Malcolm started to choke on his peas. "Need some help?"

"The onions are close enough to a pre-digested pap, Mr. Tucker, I don't think I need anymore of it." Trip chuckled at that. "But I don't think I'd get along with your aunt Mabel, no offense; I just can't handle formal occassions that last even three hours. Over a day, and..." this little shudder wasn't from pain or cold.

Trip would've raised an eyebrow, but the very human gesture had been associated too much with Vulcans for his comfort. "Who the heck said a party has to be a formal occassion. Did you ever let your hair down before you joined—wait, you don't like formal stuff? How the heck did you get in Starfleet?"

Malcolm looked down at an inches'worm crawling up the floor, and muttered something too low for human ears. "I'm sorry, but I didn't hear that," Trip said. "What was that?"

"I was talked into it. A very long, very loud talking into."

Trip shrugged. "At least you didn't get drunk one evening, and wake up the next day with a tattoo and a member of Starfleet." He hesitated. "Wait, that came out wrong."

Malcolm couldn't help but laugh a little. "Actually, you're right. Well, I wasn't drunk, and I didn't get a tattoo for it, but I did wake up one day with a member of Starfleet."

"I bet Hoshi was pissed at that."

"Not really."

"She wasn't??" Trip asked, astonished that Hoshi hadn't torn large chunks out of her husband for that sort of behavior. "Did she make you sleep in the doghouse at least?"

"Excuse me?" Malcolm asked, wondering why Trip thought Hoshi would do something like that. After all, Hoshi'd joined Starfleet months before he finally did.

* * *

[author's note: and, because of a typographical error, this scene is entered]...

**ENTERPRISE:**

Jonathan Archer was sitting down in the Mess Hall when Ensign Mayweather sat down at his table with him. "Afternoon, Captain," he said, a mite curtly.

"Afternoon, Ensign. Something on your mind?" he asked.

"Did you really have to say that?" Travis asked. He'd been shocked to hear the Captain saying that.

"Excuse me?"

"Telling her that he's dead, just like that."

Before Archer could reply, "Who's dead?" Dr. Phlox asked, passing by with a plate full of food. Travis pulled out a chair, and Phlox sat down at the table with them.

"Captain Archer told Ensign Sato that her husband was dead. We don't know that either Lieutenant Reed or Commander Tucker are really dead." Archer noted how much Travis could sound like Trip.

Phlox made an interested sound. "Was it a calm and calculated statement, or more of something delivered in a rush?" he inquired. Archer felt like they were talking around him, having forgotten that he was even here.

"Somewhere in between them. I mean, he did say that none of us were going to give up hope...but he only said that after telling her that the Commander and Lieutenant were believed to be dead."

"I see," Dr. Phlox said, then turned to the Captain. "Does this have to do with the _Hssk'khr_ , Captain?" Phlox asks.

"No," Archer said.

"Are you certain? It would be quite understandable, given the number of challenges to your authority in the past few weeks. The 'Guzzlers', as Mr. Tucker nicknamed them—and a rather accurate translation of their name, actually. The physical assault upon yourself by several _Hssk'khr_."

"I get your point, Doctor," Archer said, losing any appetite he'd had for the Hot Turkey Sandwich on the plate before him. "And maybe those did contribute, in some way, maybe they didn't. All I know is that I acted according to what I knew; but I hadn't expected that sort of a reaction."

"'According to what you knew'?" Mayweather wanted to know.

Archer nodded. "Hoshi always used to tell me, 'Tell me the worst first, so I can remember the better news better.' So that's what I did."

"Her own advice appears to have backfired, based on what I've heard, Captain," Dr. Phlox said.

Jonathan Archer could only nod.

* * *

**PLANETSIDE:**

"Very good, this," Cutler said, drinking her soup. It was a Puu-aa creation, made from local-critter blood, plant mash, and something resembling insects; Elizabeth was grateful that it was edible. She'd just finished helping Hoshi—quiet, insular Hoshi—sip some of hers down, before Elizabeth had had any herself...aside from an initial tasting.

Then she had a thought. "Are all the lakes, swamps, and pools fueled by hot springs?" Elizabeth asked.

"No," the Puu-aa replied. "Some hot, some cold, some middling, some alkaline, some acidic, some middling." It peered at her with a whole set of eyespots—the freckles were eyes and camoflage. "Are contemplating plan?"

"I am," she said. To go for help. To go to help.

It depended upon the state of the shuttlecraft.

"Can Puu-aa provide assistance?"

Elizabeth didn't know if this set was offering itself, or the services of its' entire race. "Can you—the ones that are in this hut with me right now—keep watch over Hoshi? Don't let anyone in here, aside from me. Okay?"

"Are capable of doing that."

She nodded thanks, told it Thanks, and got up. Cutler hesitated at the doorway of the hut.

There did exist a chance that she would become lost out there—maybe get boiled, maybe become lunch, maybe just wandering forever. There was a chance that Enterprise was on its way right now, and was just waiting for the clouds to part. There was a chance that Hoshi could pick herself up and carry on as though nothing had ever happened.

There was a chance that pigs could fly. Elizabeth knew Hoshi; the girl had never been alone in her life. Accompanied by family, accompanied by dormmates, or accompanied by her husband, Hoshi had always had people close by. The possibility of losing Malcolm had brought her to this.

Hoshi'd been resolute and single-minded when she'd been angry at Malcolm, before and after the trip to Risa...but Cutler had known that Hoshi still could fall back on Malcolm for support if she needed it. Now...

Elizabeth turned around and headed over to Hoshi. Crouching by her, "Hoshi?"

"Hrm?"

"I'm going to go for a walk now," Elizabeth said, suspecting that Hoshi'd forgotten all about her. It was easy enough to do, and wouldn't have been the first time. "I'm going to go see if Malcolm's still alive."

"Malcolm!?" with more energy than before, though not yet at normal volume. "Going to see Malcolm?"

"Yes, I'm going to see Malcolm." If there was anything left to see.

"I'm going too."

"Hoshi, it's raining outside. You hate the rain."

"I'm going," Hoshi said, "to find Malcolm."

Elizabeth shrugged. "O-kay." To the Puu-aa, "Do you want to come with us?" And to her eyes, the composite being actually reminded her of a monk she once knew—a guy who found himself one day with no other choice but to walk right through a hotbed of temptation.

"Will...will—will accompany," it said at last.

All two & two dozen left the hut. Into the rain they went.

* * *

**SHUTTLEPOD:**

"C'mon, just answer."

"You're not going to let this drop, are you?" Malcolm asked. He was trying to take a nap...and take it before the closest thing to a couch in this shuttlepod was sopping wet. Water was still coming in, never quickly. It didn't need to be quick, it was just continual...Rather like Trip's questionings.

"Nope."

Malcolm grumbled something in a Turkic dialect. "Fine, fine," he said in English. "My family translated our family name into 'Reed'...because of the Vulcans."

Trip nearly chortled. "How's that?"

"Who first contacted the Vulcans?" Malcolm asked.

"Zephram Cocran."

"What linguistic nationality was he?"

"Excuse me?"

"What language or language family did he speak?"

"English, of course."

Malcolm nodded. "And, ever since then, what language have the Vulcans used in all their talks with humans?"

"English. Look, if there's a point here, maybe you need to sharpen it...or at least point it out."

"The Vulcans are monolingual, Commander, in case you haven't noticed. They only have one language, and they treat everyone else accordingly—if Zephram had spoken Chinese, then the Vulcans would have used Chinese in all their dealing with Earth."

"Okay...so? What does that have to do with 'Reed'?"

"Anglophones and Anglophonic-named people were the ones the Vulcans prefered to deal with."

"You guys changed your name because of the Vulcans?" Trip asked, trying hard not to laugh out loud. He was all set to do the L.O.L.R.O.T.F.L.M.A.O. routine, were it not that that would hurt too much.

Malcolm just looked at him. "You think it was the first time people have ever done something like that, to get in good with the new power brokers?"

* * *

**TWO HOURS LATER:**

Cold rain.

Two hours' full of cold rain.

Elizabeth made her eighty-fifth mental note to have a chat with the tailors over at Starfleet—the waterproof windbreakers Starfleet'd handed out, they weren't very effective against long-term use in cold weather.

She'd also noted that, while some of the local biofauna and bioflora were composed of identical types—like the leeches of the Puu-aa—there were some things composed of differing types, like the larger trees. And some of those tree-things, said the Puu-aa that was still with them, had been shorn of their tops.

They were on the right path.

"Have—have to—haveto find..." Hoshi said, shivering in the rain, her gaze piercing and intent. Single-minded.

Cutler was afraid of what they might find at the shuttlepod, of how Hoshi might react if Malcolm really and truly was dead. She might curl up on herself, and not emerge until Enterprise returned them to Earth—if even then.

Elizabeth wasn't sure how long Hoshi was going to last. In her mind, Cutler began to form her report for the eventuality that only one of them survived.

A tapir-bird grackled from its branch, diving into a nearby pool.

Within her head, even as rain pelted her & her windbreaker hood, Hoshi thought to herself...

*I asked Malcolm to come with me, to come into outer space with me. He was reluctant, but he agreed to. I was so happy that he'd come, that we were on the same ship, that I didn't even think about this sort of downside.

*I don't think I would have wanted to think about it.

*Like the KDL, I've left the safety of the world I knew...and when I look around now, the entire world's different. Nothing familiar or reassuring. Like the KDL, I've Fallen into a Hell. But, while their world might one day dry out, there will—can never be another Malcolm Reed. My lifeline, my soulpartner, my friend is gone.

_And I can't do anything about that! That's what burns at me, is just how helpless I am. I'm an ant, mourning her anthill being stepped on by an indifferent shoe...no, stepped on by a tractor trailer._

The Puu-aa held itself together as best it could, the concentration needed for that task robbing required energy from the eyespots. Vision reduced from greyness to the _Light_ Dark*—which any segment could do on its own. A few toes, already underwater, broke off from the collection, and swam off for the spawning which so many other Puu-aa were doing.

But this was a new thing. This holding-togetherness, new and odd, a violation of instinct and biological clocks. Odd like human. New like human.

* * *

**ON ENTERPRISE:**

+Journal Of Captain Jonathan Archer.

+Maybe Travis and Phlox are right. Maybe I let my annoyance get the better of me. Part of me was still stinging from Hoshi's triumph over me with the _Hssk'khr_ , and I didn't even realize it until...until it was too late.

+I can remember one of the things my father told me: 'Stay professional, Jonny, or the Vulcans win.' T'Pol hasn't said anything about the incident, but I can about imagine what she's telling the Vulcan High Council and Science Directorate.

+As soon as we have communication with the surface again, I'm going to apologize to Hoshi. I just hope she's alright.

+God, I hope she didn't do anything as rash as I did.+

* * *

**PLANETSIDE:**

Cutler noted with a mash of relief and annoyance, that the sheared-off tops to the trees weren't angling down very sharply. Relief that the more gradual the angle meant that somebody'd survived in the shuttlepod to land semi-gracefully, and thus have greater odds of surviving the crash landing. Annoyance that it was likely going to be a very long, very wet walk.

"Ow!" Elizabeth cursed, elevating her just-now-injured foot. Embedded in the flesh above her ankle, there was a sharp beak—or a large tooth—attached to a coiled-up worm. Maybe a mollusc. Whatever the cladistic loyalties the critter had, Elizabeth just wanted it out...but she didn't yank it out, in case that beak was serrated.

Their Puu-aa companion(s) reached one leg-set over to Cutler's leg, and rasped against the coiled worm. Standing one-legged, their guide(s) was eating it alive. Within a minute, there was nothing left to the coiled worm but for the beak, which was eased out by the toe-leeches and ankle-leeches.

One more lesson from the jungle:

Not everything spawned in the wet season.

"Thank you," Elizabeth said.

"For digesting a rarity?"

Cutler mentally cursed at herself, then chuckled. She'd been attacked by an endangered species, and thanked someone for killing it. _More shades of grey_ she said to herself.

Hoshi was confused, and sullen, though she had been concerned for Elizabeth—fear of infection in a damp tropical enviroment. But the sullenness was ascendant, with little chance of being toppled. So Hoshi did what she did best: she asked questions. She hoped to get a modivation for herself from them. "You depend on the workings of your parts to survive, right?" "Those which are interconnected," the Puu-aa answered, holding together through a forced collective will. Three finger-leeches had fallen away in the walk since the loss of those toe-leeches earlier. _Together_ Together* was the chant recited by the remaining parts.

"Do you prefer to be interconnected, or apart?"

"'Prefer'?" asked a baffled set of alien.

"Do you like the experiences you have as a unified whole more than you like the experiences you have as an unconnected lot?"

"Each is each. Different weights, different reasons."

_Apples vs oranges_ "You can survive on your own, each unit?"

"A truth."

"Are the units intelligent when they aren't together?"

The Puu-aa didn't answer. Couldn't answer.

* * *

**IN THE PAST:**

Malcolm and Hoshi got off the bus with some of the other tourists to this part of rural Australia. "Ahh, and there ye be," a woman said to them. "I'd been wondering when or if you were ever a'coming."

"Hello to you too," Malcolm said. "Nice to see you, and yes, we're getting along spendidly, tip-top health and all that." They both looked at each other, grinned, and embraced, slapping each other on the back. Hoshi just stood there, watching Malcolm and this strange woman.

Hoshi had thought she was going to meet Malcolm's sister, a woman her new husband had described as 'the other Black Sheep of the Reed family, aside from me.'

The embrace was broken, and Malcolm stepped back to where Hoshi was still standing. "I'd heard you'd gotten married, Malcolm," the other woman said. "Just wasn't sure I'd ever get to meet the lucky one."

"Amy, this is Hoshi," Malcolm said. "Hoshi, this is my sister."

"Hullo," Amy said, shaking Hoshi's hand, a mite out of practice, after so long a time spent with Earth-visiting aliens who didn't shake hands...some didn't even have hands.

"Hi," Hoshi said. "It's an honor to meet you. Malcolm's—"

"Told you absolutely nothing about me, I'm sure," Amy said, a smile on her face. "You don't need to be too polite around me. Just don't try killing me, and we'll get along."

"O-kay," Hoshi said, bewildered.

"So, where is this partner of yours?" Malcolm asked. "She busy elsewhere?"

"No, brother mine, he's over in that crowd of people. C'mon, you're just in time to watch."

"'Watch'?" Malcolm asked, nearly choking on the word.

Amy laughed. "Not that sort. Snake wrangling," and led them to the crowd, then to the front of the crowd. The crowd had been gathered around a fenced oval; within the oval as a sloping depression. At the bottom of the gradual slope, "There he is," Amy pointed out to Malcolm.

When he saw who Amy's partner was, Malcolm nearly choked. It was a bird, a Secretary Bird to be precise.

Or rather, as much of a bird as humans were still monkeys. Long legs, long neck, and quill-like feathers atop the head. But most of the feathers, at least along the back, looked as though they hadn't finished making the evolutionary transition from scale to feather. The 'wings' were feathered arms, useless for flying.

While it was more humanoid than, say, a KDL; this was less humanoid than a Vulcan.

And the partner was walking up to meet them, taking naturally long strides. "Malcolm," Amy introduced, "meet Jass."

Hoshi recognized the species Jass belonged to: the Ouwb.

"Hello, Jass," Malcolm said, not sure if he should extend a hand for shaking.

"Hellos, Malcolm," Jass said, not holding out his own hand for shaking, since humans were stronger than Ouwb—Ouwb bones broke easily. The avian head swiftly spun around to look at Amy. "Amy, time to begin."

Amy nodded, and got in the ring. One of Amy's coworkers, from the Australian Venom Institute, released one of the surplus Taipans from a holding bag.

The crowd gasped and backed up a few steps. Amy and Jass paid them no heed, focusing entirely on the Taipan—one of the most venomous snakes on Earth.

It was a careful, cautious dance the three of them made: snake, human, alien. Strike and lunge, extend a hand and dodge, reach and lure. The human instinct was to pull back, get away from the snake. The Ouwb instinct was to get closer, to impale the snake. Both Amy and Jass were reining in their instincts: they were catching the snakes, not killing, not eating.

Every action each of the three made, each move taken, was deliberate. The Taipan was not intelligent, but evolution had honed the targeting calculations in all snakes. It saw the Ouwb not as an alien, but simply as a predator, a threat; but it saw more than just the Ouwb in such a way.

Then, shocking everyone—including Malcolm—the Taipan managed to connect its fangs with Amy's hand. Injection. Envenomation.

And in less time than it took the human eye to blink, Jass beheaded the responsible serpent, shoving it aside, out of the way. He gingerly removed the head from Amy's hand. Jass coiled around Amy, the dorsal feather-scales puffed up defensively, protectively. Holding the dying was not a purely human trait.

And it was one of the few times that Hoshi had ever seen Malcolm cry. Tears of fear. Tears as Malcolm and Amy's co-workers rushed past the fence.

__*[note: in real life, I don't think there's an Australian Venom Institute].

**IN THE PRESENT:**

Amy's coworkers had applied anti-venom in time, saving Amy's life. 'The third time I've been bitten in seven years' Amy had later said; ''tis fourth' Jass had corrected.

Malcolm couldn't help but wonder, here and now, if Hoshi was feeling the same way about him, as Jass had felt about Amy's dying. "Are you sure we can't send any signals out?" he asked Trip.

"Sure as I'm in here with you," Trip replied. "Besides, even if we could, the storm's acting up some big-time interference between us and Enterprise."

"Not heading up. I mean if we were to try sending a message to Hoshi and Elizabeth."

"'Elizabeth'? You got yourself a harem, Malcolm?" Trip asked, teasing. The two of them were getting along better, having patched up a few things between them.

_"Hayir,"_ Malcolm said. "But do you think enough of the electronics survived to do that much?"

"Send something horizontally 'stead of vertically?" Trip considered it. "It just might work. It might be nothing fancier than Morse Code, mind you."

"At least it would be something."

"I hear ya," said Trip, who agreed whole-heartedly. "By the way...nah."

"What?" Malcolm asked.

"It's nothing."

"If it were nothing, why'd you say something."

"You'd laugh."

"You said something so I'd laugh?"

"No, I thought about saying something, but you'd just laugh if I said what I was gonna say."

"I won't laugh, provided you say it within the next five minutes." Malcolm yawned from an inner exhaustion before adding, "Keep hemming and hawing, Mr. Tucker, and I won't be responsible for my actions." Though he wasn't sure why he was exhausted, unless it had to do with the effort he expended to keep from moving or thinking about his wounded leg.

"Allright. There's nothing between you and Crewman Cutler, right?"

"I'm not going to dignify that with a response."

"Is that a Yes?"

Malcolm glared at Trip, though it was a light glare; he didn't feel up to heavy glares quite yet. Malcolm was tempted to retort with a 'She's my wife's cousin!', but didn't. "Was that the question you feared my laughter?"

"Well, no."

"Then what was?"

"I was going to ask if you thought I'd stand a chance if I asked her if she'd like to go out on a date."

Uncaring that the action had been appropriated by the Vulcans, Malcolm raised an eyebrow.

__*[author's question: has anyone here ever read any Trip/Elizabeth fanfic? _curious_ ].

**OUTSIDE:**

"'Yea, slimey things did crawl with legs,

"'Upon the slimey sea.'"

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Hoshi asked Elizabeth.

Elizabeth paused in her reciting of the Ancient Mariner's tale, to grin at Hoshi. She suspected that, between the two of them, they didn't have a single dry garment on them, so drenching and engulfing was the rain. And the rain was even still giving no sign of letting up, even for a few minutes.

"To a point," Cutler said, then sniffled. She just hoped she wasn't starting to come down with a cold; not fancying her chances against a collective-virus.

"Story interesting in extremes and centers," the Puu-aa told them, as they clambered over a half-submerged fallen log that was in their way. "Continuing?"

"Elizabeth, no," Hoshi said.

"Have to give a good reason," Elizabeth said, feeling like the two of them had slipped back to their teen years. If not for the rain, the ever-downpouring rain. The unending, the never-ceasing deluge, the—

"'Puff, the magic dragon...'" Hoshi started to sing.

"Alright, alright already!" Cutler exclaimed, and spat into the muddy froth that lolled and flowed past their feet

"What is—?" the Puu-aa started to ask.

"It's a long story," Cutler said, ending the conversation.

* * *

**HOURS LATER, ENTERPRISE:**

"Captain," T'Pol said, leaning over the sensors yet again. There were times that Mayweather wondered if the SubCommander was trying to seduce the sensors. "There is a ship on approach."

Archer stood up from his chair. "Let me see," he said. And when the other ship's image appeared on screen, he nearly sat back down. It was a coiled-up shape, just like an ammonite—or the shells of the _Hssk'khr_.

Jonathan had to remind himself that the _Hssk'khr_ wouldn't have any reason to be here...and that besides, their ships didn't look like that.

"Open hailing frequencies. Archer looked over at T'Pol. "Do we know anything about this race?"

"It does not match any known profiles," T'Pol said.

"Open hailing frequencies anyway."

* * *

**SOON, PLANETSIDE:**

"I spy," Trip said, while he continued to work on what remained of the wires, "with my little eye, something beginning with S."

"Ship."

"Nope."

"Shuttlepod." The smaller and more subtle items had already been used up.

"You got it. Yuir turn."

"I spy," Malcolm said, "with my little eye, something beginning with—is the door being jostled?"

"Ha ha, funny. You're no Dr Seuss, Malcolm, so try real letters."

"I'm serious. I think somebody's trying to—" and again the sound, audible now even to Trip. Someone or something was trying to break into the shuttlepod.

Trip looked to Malcolm, and Malcolm looked to Trip. Neither of them was in any shape to be fighting, nor did the shuttlepod have any weapons in it.

"We're in trouble," Malcolm said.

"Pessimist," Trip accused.

"No, I'm a realist."

**TEN MINUTES LATER:**

"Any minute now," Trip said, strangling a yawn. Fear only lasted so long, and it left the body reacting to all the adrenaline that'd rushed through the body.

"Didn't you say that five minutes ago?" Malcolm joked.

"Funny." Just then, the door wrenched open—and fell off.

"I'll be—you were right."

"Hello?" Hoshi called in from outside the shuttlepod, her voice tinny against the thundering of the rain. Luckily, there was no thunder proper.

"Hoshi, "Trip said, "I'm so happy to see you, I could kiss you.

"But I'll let Malcolm do that, instead," he said as Sato and Cutler entered the shuttlepod, a strange alien in tow.

The rain continued to fall.

"How generous," Malcolm said, trying not to quip.

"You two didn't try to kill each other?" Cutler asked.

The rain kept falling.

"Well, we tried," Trip said. "But after a while, we called a truce."

"What to be doing now?" asked the Puu-aa.

Rain, rain, rain evermore.

"All we need to do now," Trip said, "is patch a call through to Enterprise. I just finished repairs to the comms, and there's an outside chance that it just might work."

"Small problem with that," Cutler said.

There was no rainfall.

"Do you hear that?" Hoshi asked.

"For once, no," said Trip. Everybody went outside. Hoshi acted as Malcolm's crutch; a bewildered Puu-aa walked outside alone—not-alone; and Elizabeth stood alongside Trip, in case he needed any help.

The rain for a full hectare, had stopped. But when they looked up, through the broken tree-colonies, they saw the reason.

"Holy..." Trip said.

"I told you the rain was a bad thing," Hoshi said.

"I didn't think there were hallucinagens in it," Elizabeth said in a quiet voice.

"It's a ship," Malcolm said.

And it was.

There was a giant ship overhead. Clouds surrounded that ship on the left, right, fore & aft sides—but none of the rainclouds could get below it.

"A rain shadow," Elizabeth said.

"And here comes a ship," said Trip, pointing to an approaching object.

"From Enterprise?" Hoshi asked.

Nobody knew. Nobody answered. Everybody awaited.


End file.
